


Le Fantôme du Lycée

by writer_slk



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Timeline Starting Early in Season 2, Angst, Drama, F/M, Heavy Angst, Identity Reveal, Marinette Dupain-Cheng Knows, Oblivious Adrien Agreste, Tags Are Hard, There Are Only Four Miraculouses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-06-06 15:10:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 60,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15197447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writer_slk/pseuds/writer_slk
Summary: After defeating Hawk Moth, Ladybug and Chat Noir retire from the public life of superheroes. But first, they promise to reveal their identities to each other.The moment of their reveal is unexpectedly disturbed, and the resulting misunderstanding has left Adrien despondent and Marinette trying to simultaneously reach out to him and maintain an arm’s length relationship. When Adrien finally attempts to reach out to her too, a chain of events is set in motion that may destroy him as a person before the two of them can restore their broken relationship.Or, to put it another way:Marinette knows.Adrien doesn't know.But Marinette thinks Adrien knows.Now both of them are making all the wrong assumptions.NOTE: This fic is on a relatively brief hiatus while I publish another fic that has been sitting in my drafts box for far too long. I do plan to come back to it!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> With apologies to Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, and poor Adrien.

**APRIL 14**

The wind in her hair. The amusement park-like feel of the deep plunges and soaring heights as she swung between the buildings. And of course, the comfortable feeling of camaraderie that she enjoyed, knowing that Chat Noir was somewhere nearby. Fighters rely heavily on the security of knowing that someone they can trust is watching their backs, and for Ladybug, that someone was always Chat Noir.

Tonight would quite possibly be the last time she’d experience any of these feelings. It was final now. She and Chat had made their announcement at a specially-called news conference just two hours ago. And once you went public with something like this, there was too much explaining to do to back out of your decision. You just had to go through with it.

Eight months ago, she and Chat Noir had defeated Hawk Moth. Their enemy had, in time, become tired of all his failed attempts to create a supervillain both powerful enough and clever enough to snatch their Miraculouses. He had finally come after them himself. It was a long and intense battle, but eventually, Hawk Moth had lost. Nobody had ever found the body – or the Butterfly Miraculous that he himself had worn – but they had seen him hit the river, and not even a supervillain could have survived that fall.

At first, she and Chat had both been keen to patrol nightly. There was tension in not knowing for sure who Hawk Moth had been, not knowing where his missing Miraculous was. And even though logic told them that he was no longer a threat, it was hard to believe. Hard to emotionally adjust to that belief.

But over time, Paris had proven itself quiet after that battle had ended. Criminal activity was all of the non-supernatural variety and was being handled adeptly by the police. And after a few weeks, Marinette had begun preparing to graduate from Collège Françoise Dupont, after which she would be beginning her first year at Lycée Leroux. The combination of these two factors meant that Marinette was less interested in patrolling. She cut back a little at a time, and within a few months, she was only going out a couple of times a week.

She would have publicly retired from the superhero gig earlier, but she had hated the thought of telling Chat. She knew that he still loved her and that he would miss her. And, if she were deeply honest with herself, she would miss him too. Not that she loved him in a romantic sense. As Marinette, she was dating someone else now, although she had never had the heart to mention this to Chat. But they were too close as partners and friends to _not_ miss.

But all things must come to an end, and eventually, Marinette – as Ladybug – had suggested to Chat Noir that perhaps they should hang up their masks. She wasn’t saying that they would give up the Miraculouses. No, Master Fu wanted them to keep those for now, to keep them on call. But they would no longer make a point of going out, no longer make public appearances.

Did this have to be a publicized decision? Yes. Part of Paris’ feeling of security hinged on knowing that Chat Noir and Ladybug were protecting them. If they just disappeared from their patrols without a word, there would be talk and there would be rumors. It would be upsetting. The public needed to be assured that their heroes hadn’t left them defenseless. They needed to be told that their heroes had faith that local law enforcement was enough to handle the day-to-day for now.

Did they both have to agree to this plan? Couldn’t Ladybug stop patrolling if that’s what _she_ wanted, while Chat Noir continued if that’s what _he_ wanted? No. Again, Paris relied on their heroes for their feelings of security. Chat Noir and Ladybug had to be united in their decision for the good of the morale of the Parisians.

So, would Chat Noir agree or not? At first, of course, he would not.

Marinette told him to think about it. She gave him a few weeks, hoping that he’d agree to it the next time she mentioned it.

She had been surprised when _he_ was the one to bring it up next. But he added a catch. If Ladybug really believed the major threat to Paris was ended, Chat said, then she should be agreeable to revealing their identities to one another. He argued that if they weren’t meeting regularly, they would need to know how to get in touch with each other in case something came up, a goal most easily accomplished if each knew who the other was.

Marinette suspected that this reason was secondary to his curiosity and longing, but she had been relieved that at least it meant Chat Noir was agreeing to retire. And his arguments were not entirely without merit. She felt okay about revealing her long-held secret to him.

At least, that’s how she had felt last night when she had agreed to the plan. Now that the moment was here, Marinette’s stomach was all butterflies as the two of them flew through the streets and over the rooftops.

“Ladybug!” she suddenly heard Chat Noir’s voice calling her unexpectedly. She followed his lead as he came to a stop in an alleyway. They were standing between a shoe store and a hair salon on a street lined with similar commercial buildings.

“Why are we stopping here?” she asked, looking around.  It was late, and the place was deserted.

“Because you promised we would reveal our identities. Here’s the place. Now’s the time.”

“Here? In an alley?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

“I just… I had envisioned something a little more iconic.”

Chat Noir shook his head. “Ladybug and Chat Noir just announced to Paris that they would be on their last patrol tonight. It’s eleven o’clock, and these commercial alleyways will probably be pretty empty. But all the iconic places are still going to be swarming with fans and reporters hoping for one last glance.”

It made sense. Marinette took a deep breath.

“All right,” she agreed.

Suddenly, she was entirely unsure about what to do with her body. She crossed her arms over her chest. No, that felt wrong. Hands on her hips? No. Hands clasped in front of her? Good grief. Just get it over with already.

“So, like, uh, on the count of three or…?”

“On the count of three.” He took her hands in his and smiled down at her sweetly. She was too nervous to even protest against this gesture. He counted. “One. Two.”

“I can’t!” Marinette gasped. She wrested her hands from his and covered her cheeks, which were burning red. Chat was amused.

“You can take your time if you want, m’lady, but I’m not letting you go until I know who you are. You won’t be able to hang out with me in our normal lives if I don’t know who you are.”

She turned an impish grin toward him. “Oh, and what makes you so sure that I’m going to want to hang out with you?” she teased, poking a finger against his chest.

“Of course you’ll want to hang out with me. I’m totally irresistible,” he teased back, leaning in close to her and waggling his eyebrows.

Marinette laughed, and it felt good to break some of the tension she was feeling.

“Ladybug?” Chat straightened up and his face was suddenly serious, even concerned.

“What?”

“I don’t… I mean… I don’t know how to say this without sounding… um… this is going to sound stupid,” he muttered. Marinette could sense his discomfort. Seeing _Chat Noir_ stumble over his words was enough to make her feel uncomfortable too. He continued. “I know that maybe you’ll never love me the way I love you, but if we’re not seeing each other as Ladybug and Chat Noir anymore, do you think – if there’s any way possible – we could still, you know, hang out sometimes? As friends?”

“I’d like that,” she said. And she meant it. “I promise you won’t see the last of me tonight.”

Chat looked relieved. There was a quiet moment. Then Chat spoke again.

“Are you ready now?” he asked.

“I think so,” Marinette replied.

“One. Two.”

“No!” Marinette said again, turning her face away and shutting her eyes tightly.

Chat laughed. “I’m serious, Ladybug. I’ll stay here all night if I have to. Is there something that might make this a little easier on you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe if you weren’t so… so close?” Marinette knew she was being silly, but she didn’t much care.

“Okay. We’ll go to opposite ends of the alley,” Chat Noir suggested. “And I’ll go first. Okay?”

Marinette nodded. She backed up toward one end of the alleyway. She ended up in a little corner formed by the wall of the shoe store and a dumpster that was pushed up against it. It wasn’t a place she’d normally prefer to be, but at the moment, it helped her feel a little more sheltered, somehow made her feel a little safer.

Low light spilled into the alley from both sides. It wasn’t much, but their eyes were already used to the dimness, and it was enough for her to see Chat Noir, who was really only about 25 feet away, and vice versa.

She took a deep breath to steady herself. When she exhaled, it was all shaky. She leaned her back against the dumpster for support.

From across the chasm between them, she saw Chat. His momentary nervousness seemed to be gone. He winked at her in an exaggerated way, and then she saw his lips move and suddenly…

 _Adrien?_ Marinette gawked. Chat Noir had been _Adrien Agreste_ the whole time? Which meant, of course, that _Adrien Agreste_ was in love with her, or at least the Ladybug side of her. And it was _Adrien Agreste_ who had been under that mask, even when… Holy cow. She thought her heart might just pound right out of her chest.

Marinette forcibly blocked the memories that were trying to bubble up to the surface of her consciousness. If she thought those thoughts now, she might completely lose her nerve, and she had a promise to keep.

She was thankful, at least, that she no longer had her debilitating crush on Adrien anymore. This was difficult enough.

She closed her eyes. It’d be easier if she wasn’t looking at him. No, maybe that was worse. It made her feel like she was falling headlong into an abyss. She opened them again.

No more excuses. It was time.

“Spots-“. She didn’t hear her own voice say the last word because she was too distracted by the bright light that suddenly flooded the alley from behind her. Adrien’s figure was brightly lit up.

“Halt! Police!”

Marinette was aware of Tikki slamming into her purse at top speed, so she knew for sure she had detransformed. Adrien was looking at her, still utterly cool about the whole thing. He smiled widely and waved at her.

Marinette waved back, but she knew she couldn’t stick around right now. Adrien hadn’t done a lot of modeling since his father had disappeared almost a year ago, but he was still well-known throughout Paris. There was a time that she might have loved to be tabloid fodder in connection with him, but not now.

She looked around for a way to escape the officer’s notice. There weren’t a lot of options, especially without Ladybug’s handy agility or her yo-yo. But there _was_ the dumpster. She didn’t particularly want to end her night smelling like garbage, but what could she do? There were some crates stacked next to the dumpster; she scaled these quickly and hopped in.

The foul odors wafted into her nose and she held her arm in front of her face as though that could block the smell. Maybe it did a little. Not much.

She could hear snippets of the conversation outside the dumpster. The officer had recognized the former model. And while Adrien wasn’t doing anything illegal, the officer strongly advised him that teenagers probably ought not skulk about in commercial alleyways after business hours. Adrien played up his innocent, pretty-boy façade that all his ads had once conveyed to the public. No, he wasn’t up to any trouble, just out for a walk. No, there _certainly_ wasn’t anyone with him.

The officer escorted Adrien out of the alleyway and offered him a ride home. The subtle nuances of tone and diction made it clear that this was an offer that should not be refused, unless he wanted trouble. Adrien accepted.

When the coast was clear, Marinette eased herself out of the dumpster and stepped out of the alley. She wrinkled her nose at her own odor. It would be faster, she thought, to transform back into Ladybug and take advantage of that yo-yo and that agility to get home. But she was putting that life behind her, wasn’t she? That was kind of the whole point of the evening.

She started walking toward the bakery instead, and her memories would no longer be restrained. The accidental embraces, the endless flirting, and the thousand rejections she had made. And that time she had chased him down and kissed him to break the influence that one of Hawk Moth’s supervillains had had on him! Oh, what would she have done if she had found this out earlier, when she still had a crush on Adrien? She wrapped her arms tightly around her midsection as she walked, as though she were trying to keep herself from flying apart.

It was okay. Once the shock wore off, she’d get over it.

**JANUARY 30**

_**Marinette** _

“Adrien!”

Marinette called his name as she picked her way through the crowd of students. Some were milling around and talking to friends, others were trying very hard to get out of the building as quickly as possible now that classes were over for the day.

Adrien had been shuffling books between his backpack and his locker, but at the sound of his name, he turned around. He had a lost, slightly surprised expression on his face that Marinette had become accustomed to seeing on him this year. He didn’t look particularly happy to see her. Marinette had become accustomed to that, too. She’d learned that it was nothing personal. He just didn’t seem to relate very well to people these days.

“Hey, Marinette,” he responded when she finally got near enough to use a normal speaking voice. “We should probably figure out when we’re going to work on our lab report this week. It’s due on Friday.” The two of them were lab partners in their biology class.

“How about tomorrow afternoon. Right after school,” she suggested brightly.

“Okay, that’s fine.” He happened to glance down at the papers that lay on top of the stack of books in Marinette’s hands. “What’s that?”

“Oh, this.” Marinette gave a shy chuckle, shifting the books in her hands and wishing she had not put the papers at the _top_ of the stack. “It’s nothing. It’s just-“

“Did you draw these?”

“Um, yeah. It’s for the fashion design club I joined. I think I mentioned it to you before.” Marinette shifted her books in her arms again, this time pulling the sketches off the top, and handing them to Adrien. She had enjoyed designing for several years now, and a couple of years ago, at Collège Françoise Dupont, she had really thought she was very good. That was before she had arrived at Lycée Leroux and had joined a club of other students interested in fashion design.

It was a fairly small club but they were serious about their shared passion. The club’s sponsor, Ms. Fontaine, said in a good-natured way that she would not waste her time sponsoring a social gathering disguised as a club, so their meetings were always on topic. There was some time spent discussing what had been seen lately on the runway or in magazines. There was usually time allotted for someone to give an assigned presentation about a particular designer, and then the group would study that designer’s work together. And to wrap up each meeting, everyone was always expected to bring some of their own work to share. Usually this meant sketches, although occasionally someone brought in actual clothing items. All the club members could then discuss each other’s work and offer constructive feedback.

Marinette had quickly learned that her work was considered to be only about average within this club. It was a good club, to be fair, but she wasn’t a standout talent here. This didn’t soften her interest in fashion design at all, but it had made her feel a little shy about sharing her work, especially with someone like Adrien Agreste, former teen model. Adrien Agreste, son of Gabriel Agreste, one of the world’s greatest fashion designers.

Now, Marinette watched Adrien’s face anxiously as he flipped through her drawings. “They’re good, Marinette.” That’s all he said before handing them back, and Marinette felt very relieved, even if she sensed that he was exaggerating for the sake of their friendship.

Adrien glanced at his watch. “I’d better go,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow after school. Meet at your place?”

“Yep.” They always met at her place.

Adrien said goodbye and then started back down the hall through the thinning crowd.

Marinette watched him thoughtfully as he left.

She felt a clap on her back and turned to see her best friend, Alya.

“Girl, you better not let Luka catch you looking at Adrien like that,” Alya smirked.

Marinette’s eyes grew huge. “Looking at him like what?”

“Oh, I’m just teasing you, Marinette,” Alya assured her. “But seriously, I never know anymore what you’re going to be feeling about that boy on any given day.”

“Come on, Alya,” she mumbled. “You don’t understand.”

* * *

Marinette knew that from the point of view of an outsider such as Alya, her ups and downs with Adrien would seem very peculiar indeed. Understanding that Marinette and Adrien were Ladybug and Chat Noir was essential to understanding why their relationship had unfolded the way it had over the past nine months, and even her best friend Alya didn’t know that secret.

Alya knew everything that happened before that night, of course. She knew of Marinette’s crush on Adrien, the one that started almost as soon as she met him and that had reduced her to a blathering mess around him nine times out of ten. She knew that Marinette had eventually given up on him, convinced that she would never be able to string more than two coherent words together around him and thus would never be able to get his attention. Alya watched as Marinette settled into a casual acquaintance with Adrien, the kind of relationship where you say hello to one another in the halls at school or at social gatherings, but not much else.

And of course, Alya knew when Marinette started dating Luka Couffaine. She’d practically set the two of them up herself by dragging Marinette to all the shows performed by his band, Kitty Section. At first Marinette agreed to go to the shows to support the other band members – Rose, Juleka, and Ivan – who were Marinette’s classmates and friends. But after a while, Marinette had to admit that she was going just as much to see Luka play and to see him after the shows. The two of them had just reached their 13-month dating anniversary last week.

But things had changed with Adrien, of course, when he and Marinette revealed their identities to one another.

When Marinette first discovered that Adrien was Chat Noir’s alter ego, the familiar nervousness she used to feel around Adrien had returned with a vengeance. She was on edge all the time, _just waiting_ for him to make a comment, make a move, flirt with her, or tease her in _some_ way now that he knew she was Ladybug.

On one hand, she didn’t really _want_ him to do any of those things. It would feel odd and awkward to have to reject Adrien, though she knew it would be right since she was quite happy dating Luka.

On the other hand, she wished that he _would_ go ahead and say something because it had to happen sometime, and it would be better to just get it over with. She would have even brought the subject up herself, but she was pretty much physically incapable of it. She had reverted to “old Marinette”, all stammers and stumbles and flushing cheeks around him.

Of course, Alya could see Marinette’s return to her old behavior, but she couldn’t figure out why it had happened. How could she? Marinette still wasn’t going to share her secret identity with everyone. Chat Noir had been the exception, not the rule.

Neither could Alya understand why Marinette’s behavior shifted again a few weeks later, when she began avoiding Adrien altogether to the point of rudeness. She wouldn’t greet him at all, wouldn’t even look at him when it could be avoided. If Adrien tried to join a conversation that Marinette was having with other classmates, Marinette would walk away as soon as she could. Soon, Marinette even began turning down invitations from her friends when she knew they had invited Adrien too.

Alya had called her out on the behavior, but just like Marinette could not explain why she was suddenly nervous around Adrien again, neither could she explain why she was avoiding him now instead.

The reason Marinette was avoiding Adrien was that she had become resentful and even angry that Adrien was treating her _exactly as he always had_. They had just discovered they had a _huge_ shared history. Had they not fought together side-by-side? Trusted each other, sacrificed themselves for each other? They were partners, friends, a _team_. He’d even asked her to promise to hang out with them in their normal lives! But through his silence, it was very clear he wanted nothing to do with any of it anymore.

Tikki once suggested that perhaps Adrien simply thought it was _Marinette_ who didn’t want to talk about it, seeing that Marinette never brought it up herself. Marinette had countered by saying that it would be clear to anyone that she was too nervous to say anything to Adrien herself. And furthermore, as Chat Noir, _he_ had never really shied away from saying something just because she might not like it, so he had no excuse. Tikki couldn’t argue against that.

Marinette had spent four months avoiding Adrien, to Alya’s increasing exasperation. But then one day in July, Marinette crossed the line.

Alya’s boyfriend, Nino Lahiffe, who also happened to be Adrien’s best friend, was moving away. His father’s job had called him to go overseas. They would be gone for two years. Alya had planned a going-away party for him to be held at a park the evening before they left.

Marinette told Alya she would go to the party. Alya gave her the unnecessary reminder that Adrien would be there, but Marinette assured her it wasn’t a problem. Marinette _wanted_ to go. She liked Nino, and she knew how important he was to Alya. She figured she’d be able to handle being around Adrien just this once. She even brought a cake, which her parents’ bakery had agreed to donate to the party.

Transporting the cake was a little more difficult than she expected. She had thought that Luka would help her with it, but it turned out that his own family was out of town that weekend for a last-minute vacation. Marinette’s parents offered to help, but Marinette had insisted that she could carry the sheet cake two blocks by herself. Knowing their daughter’s tendency toward clumsiness, her parents had given each other an uneasy look, but they didn’t say no.

It took her longer to walk to the park than she thought it would because she had to walk slowly with the cake in a box balanced on her outstretched arms. It wasn’t all that heavy when she first picked it up, but her arms still got tired after a while.

She managed to arrive a few minutes early, but a few guests were already there, starting to greet each other and to help themselves to snacks that Alya was still working to set out. Nino had been helping her, but he was turned right now talking to one of the guests. Adrien was helping too, putting ice and drinks in an ice chest next to the table furthest from Marinette.

Marinette made it to the table closest to her, where Alya was busy arranging bowls and opening bags of chips. She put the cake down on the nearest table, silently congratulating herself on getting it there in one piece.

“Hey, girl!” Alya greeted her. “That cake looks amazing!”

“Hi, Alya,” Marinette returned with a smile. Alya had already turned to another table, had begun filling the bowls with the chips.

Marinette opened the cake box and carefully removed the cake along with its cardboard platter. She had just put it down beside the box when Alya spoke up.

“Oh, Marinette, could you put the cake over on this table instead?” She nodded toward the table she had in mind as she opened another bag.

“Sure thing!” Marinette picked up the sheet cake again, cardboard platter and all, and started to walk around to the other table.

That was when a ball that Alya’s younger twin sisters were playing with rolled unnoticed under her feet. She stepped on the ball, lost her footing, and fell backward onto the pavement. She landed hard on her back, and the cake she was carrying flew up and landed with a splat on her face. From her neck to the top of her head, cake and frosting were everywhere.

Everyone stopped and stared, wide-eyed. Marinette wasn’t hurt, at least not much, but she was sure she looked ridiculous and she felt awful for having just ruined the cake and having just made a spectacle of herself. She reached up and, with as much dignity as she could manage, pushed most of the cake off her face and onto the ground beside her before sitting up.

Thankfully, the awkwardness was alleviated when Nino began to laugh, not unkindly. He grabbed a stack of napkins from a nearby table, which he handed to Marinette, and then stepped forward to start picking pieces of the ruined cake up off the ground. Alya started laughing too, also not unkindly, and soon Marinette and the other guests were chuckling as well.

Most guests went back to their socializing. Meanwhile, Alya chewed out her sisters and Nino continued cleaning up the cake. Marinette picked herself up off the ground and started using the napkins to clean herself up.

She had wiped the worst of it off her face and was trying to wipe one of her pigtails clean when someone came up beside her saying, “Here, let me help.” It was Adrien.

Marinette wanted to snap at him that she could do it herself. She knew how rude this would be, though, and while that might not have been enough to stop her on its own, she didn’t want to make a scene at Alya and Nino’s party.

Marinette’s irritation turned to shame as Adrien good-naturedly took a napkin and started on her other pigtail. Her cheeks flushed, seeing how kindly he was treating her after she had pointedly ignored him for over two months. She even thought, for a minute, that maybe he was finally going to say something to her, something to let her know he still remembered she was Ladybug. Something very Chat-like. They were so close together that no one else would hear…

And then Adrien picked up a clean napkin. “Hold still,” he said. She did. Then she felt the rough paper scraping her ear. Felt the pressure of it against her earlobe, the gentle tug as he wiped her earring clean.

She felt her eyes widen, sure that he would say something _now_. And he did. But it was obvious and stupid. “There was frosting on your earring,” he said.  

And that was all. He called it an _earring_. Somehow, the fact that Adrien was casually calling her Miraculous an earring, as though it were just another piece of jewelry, was more than she could handle.

She pushed his hand away roughly and refused to meet his eye as she made her way toward Nino, who was throwing the last bit of the cake in the trash. Alya was nearby, cleaning frosting off her own hands with a napkin.

“I’m sorry, Nino. I have to go,” Marinette told him.

“You mean to wash up?” he asked, noting the greasy residue of butter still in her hair. “Okay, I’ll see you back here soon!”

“No. I mean, I’m not coming back. I’m sorry. I’ll miss you!” She threw one arm around his shoulders in a hasty farewell hug.

She could tell Nino was surprised, and she saw Alya’s look of confusion until the other girl whirled around and saw Adrien standing there, still holding the napkin in his hand and staring after Marinette. Alya whirled back around with a glare toward Marinette that she usually reserved for her little sisters or for Chloe Bourgeois.

“Marinette-“ Alya started. Marinette ran off before she said anything more.

The next day, Marinette had sent Alya a text message that went unanswered all day. She called a few times in the afternoon, but there was no answer. She called again twice that evening before Alya finally took the phone call. When she did, she was livid.

“Marinette, stop calling. I can’t do this right now. I have no idea what your problem with Adrien is lately,” she said, “but you have got to get control of it.” And then she hung up.

Alya didn’t talk to Marinette for a whole week. She was angry and, Marinette knew, rightfully so. No matter how upset Marinette was with Adrien, she could not continue to act like this forever. When Adrien had said what he said at the party, it had become clear that no amount of her ignoring and avoiding him was going to make him change or apologize. And Marinette was in danger of ruining her other relationships if she kept it up.

So after a week had passed, Marinette apologized to Alya. She told Alya regretfully that she couldn’t tell her what had been going on between herself and Adrien, but she promised to be civil to Adrien from now on, if not openly friendly.

Alya had accepted her apology, but Marinette also felt sure she was watching her closely to be sure she kept her promise about her behavior. Determined to put her best foot forward, Marinette had approached Adrien herself when she saw him in the hallway at Lycée Leroux on their first day of school.

She was surprised when she looked him in the eye for the first time in months. As she made small talk about their summers, she wondered when his appearance had changed. Was he like this at Nino’s party? She hadn’t really taken a good look at him there, so she couldn’t be sure.

It wasn’t a drastic change, but a series of smaller changes that added up. His sandy blond hair had gotten a tiny bit shaggy. His clothes were a little more disheveled. His skin was a little paler and he seemed a little thinner. There were hints of dark circles under his eyes.

She noticed, too, that he seemed to have a harder time holding a conversation. He would made eye contact when spoken to, but his gaze would often drift away in the middle of his responses, then snap back again when she spoke. He gave generic answers like “My summer was pretty good,” but he seemed to struggle to come up with any specifics. His body language and facial expressions were generally appropriate to the conversation, but they lacked sincerity.

Marinette suddenly wondered how he was holding up socially without Nino. Plenty of people seemed to like Adrien just fine, but she realized that Nino was the one who had made sure Adrien got the invitations to the get-togethers. Had anyone been remembering to reach out to Adrien since Nino left? She knew Alya had tried at least once, but that was a last-minute invitation to an impromptu trip to the movies, and if Adrien ever answered, it was well after the movie had ended.

Marinette felt uncomfortable as she remembered, not for the first time, that as Ladybug she had promised Chat Noir that she would hang out with him in their normal lives. Sure, she could argue that he hadn’t seemed interested in hanging out with Marinette any more than usual after he found out who she was. But there was no one to argue about it with.

On the second day of school, Marinette had had her first biology lab. When she walked into the classroom, she noticed Adrien sitting at a lab bench by himself. She waved at him, but then she seated herself at the same lab bench as Alya and the two girls chatted until class began. As the teacher called the students to order, Marinette turned her head, and out of the corner of her eye she noticed that Adrien was still alone.

“Good morning, class,” the teacher greeted them briskly. “Please look at the person seated next to you at your lab bench. This will be your lab partner for the duration of the year. If you are not sitting next to anyone, I will assign you a lab partner. If you want to make any changes to where you’re sitting, I suggest you do that now.”

Alya turned to Marinette with a smile and a hand raised for a high five, but it quickly melted into a look of surprise when Marinette stood and picked up her bag.

“Sorry, Alya. It’s not you. I just have to…” she trailed off, unsure how to finish her sentence. “I’ll see you after class!” she promised, and then she quickly moved to sit down in the empty chair next to Adrien, who seemed at least as surprised as Alya was.

And that had been the day Alya began to tease Marinette about her unfathomable relationship with Adrien.

* * *

It was late in the evening. School was over for the day. Homework was done. He had picked at his dinner, eaten a little of it. Just another day. Now was the part where he waited to go out.

Adrien was in a dimly-lit room, sitting on an overstuffed armchair. His elbows were digging into his knees as he hunched over with his face in his hands.

The room wasn’t nearly as nice as any room in his home. It was smaller, darker, smellier. But it was also quiet and private, and there were no bad memories associated with this place. He had come here a lot over the past few months.

Adrien knew that if Nino were here, he’d never get away with spending so much of his time alone. Nino had always seemed to know the difference between when Adrien really needed to be alone and when Adrien _wanted_ to be alone but _needed_ to be around others. When it was the former, Nino left him alone. When it was the latter, Nino dragged him out whether he liked it or not. Adrien missed that about him. Adrien was privately convinced that it had literally saved his life on more than one occasion since his father had disappeared more than eighteen months ago.

Nino still talked to Adrien nearly every day through texting or social media, but it wasn’t the same.

Adrien missed Nino. He missed his mother. He thought he missed his father, though he honestly wasn’t sure what there was to miss about the man who hardly ever had time for him even when he lived in the same house.

But most of all, he missed Ladybug.

The last time he had seen her was eight months ago, when he thought they were going to reveal their identities to each other. Maybe they would have if they hadn’t been interrupted.

He still revisited the events in that alley in his head every day. They had stopped in the alley. She had been so adorably nervous about revealing their identities. They’d gone to opposite ends of the alley because she had said he was too close. He had detransformed first and he was fairly certain she had seen him.

But then the policeman had shined his spotlight into the alley, blinding him. He’d heard, rather than seen, when she jumped into the dumpster and he had covered for her, protected her, because he was Chat Noir and she was Ladybug and that’s what he _always_ did.

He hadn’t worried about it, not then. She’d be back. She had promised to reveal her identity. And she had promised that he would see her again. And he knew she would keep her promises. He was _hanging_ on those promises.

He’d been looking for her. Every night since the night in the alley he had gone out, roaming the rooftops of Paris, hoping that _tonight_ would be the night he’d find her again.

But days went by, and days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months. And he had never found her.

For the first week or so, he figured that something temporary was keeping her away. Maybe she had gotten sick. Maybe something had come up in her personal life. It was possible.

As the weeks ticked by, he started fearing something worse. Maybe she had been in an accident and had been seriously injured, or maybe… maybe she had died. He had combed the list of missing person reports, of accident reports, of obituaries for the relevant timeframe. He had researched each name on the list so many times that he had them all memorized. None of them really fit what little he knew about Ladybug’s profile.

Adrien was not coping with losing Ladybug well at all. He thought if he had _some_ answer to why she had disappeared, it might be a little easier. But the total mystery of knowing nothing was unbearable. Waking every day hoping that the new day would bring answers and going to bed every night feeling heavy with disappointment was wearing him down. He was sure that her failure to reconnect with him was due to circumstances outside of her control, but after his mother and then his father, he couldn’t help but feel as though she was _one more person_ who had abandoned him.

Adrien felt like he was doing the impossible when he kept up with his day-to-day expectations. He woke up, he went to class, and he kept on top of his school work. But all of that was a charade. Here in this dimly lit room was where he was free to be the real Adrien.

Not for the first time this week, he leaned forward in his chair and cried bitterly.


	2. Chapter 2

That evening, Marinette exiled herself to her room to put in some much-needed work for her fashion design club. They were going to put on their first-ever fashion show in a little over a month. Each member was expected to enter one of their designs in the show, which meant designing an outfit and then finding someone willing to model that look on a runway in the school auditorium in front of the student body. Actually, for most club members, it was the other way around. Finding the willing model was the hard part, and the club members would have to design an outfit for whomever that happened to be.

Alya had already agreed to model for Marinette, though reluctantly.

“It’s not going to look silly, is it, Marinette?” she had asked.

“Silly?”

“You know, pants made out of chicken feathers or a dress cut out from a garbage bag or something like that?”

Marinette giggled. “No. I promise. It won’t be bad. I’m just not sure what it will be.”

That had been three weeks ago, and Marinette still had no idea what kind of outfit she was going to have Alya wear.

Marinette was slouching at her desk now with a fashion magazine in front of her. She was thumbing through the pages, but nothing appealed to her.

She looked up at the corkboard on her wall above the desk where she had pinned some of her favorite fashion photos. She saw them every day, so they were all familiar to her, but maybe if she looked at them closely she’d pick up on some previously unnoticed detail that would spark some inspiration.

Almost immediately, her eyes alighted on an old picture of Adrien, one of only two that still remained on her walls. She allowed herself a small smile of nostalgia as she remembered when her “fashion” wall had included _only_ pictures of him.

It was hard to believe that the boy in those pictures and the one who came to her house every week to work on lab reports were the same person. Almost as hard as it was to believe that Chat Noir and Adrien were the same person.

When he had shown up at the bakery to work on their very first lab report, she had known that she was going to apologize to him for her rudeness over the previous four months. She knew she owed him an apology no matter what, and that was the primary reason she would apologize. But she also thought that maybe he would ask for an explanation for her behavior, and that would open the door to clearing the air between them about their past lives as Ladybug and Chat Noir.

Marinette had been surprised when, upon finishing up their report, Adrien had stood up and lifted his backpack up to his shoulder as though he were going to leave immediately.

“Wait a minute, Adrien,” Marinette said, a little startled by the abruptness.

He stopped and looked toward her but said nothing.

“I- um. I wanted to apologize,” she said.

“For what?”

“For the way I acted at Nino’s party. And before then. Ever since…” She hesitated and looked up at him. She was still sitting in her chair; he was standing more than an arm’s length away from her.

He smiled tightly. It almost looked like a grimace, she thought. “Don’t mention it,” he said.

Marinette stared up at him, her mouth slightly open as she processed his response. Before she could speak, he’d turned around and headed out the door, leaving her staring after him.

“See you later,” he called to her, turning his head for just a quick glance back at her before disappearing down the stairs.

She stared after him for a good ten seconds after he had disappeared from view. She didn’t even manage to get up and see him out the door as good manners would prescribe.

“Don’t mention it,” he had said. It _could_ have been a casual way of saying he had forgiven her. But she was sure there had been an underlying meaning to his words. Don’t mention the thing she had just been about to mention. Don’t mention the alter egos or the day they had left them had behind.

So she hadn’t.

**JANUARY 31**

Adrien stayed out late. It was technically morning when he climbed back through the window to his room. He’d done his usual sweep of the city to look for Ladybug. But that had ended several hours ago.

There was no real justification for having spent the additional hours out of the mansion. He hadn’t been doing anything, really. Just roaming around Paris. He liked that he could get away with it, both the sneaking out and the roaming around unseen.

It still surprised him that no one seemed to notice Chat Noir even though he was active in Paris every night. Of course, he _tried_ not to be noticed, sticking to the shadows and staying light on his feet to avoid attention. He thought surely someone would have caught some footage or snapped a picture of him by now, though, after nine months of nightly patrols. But if they had, he wasn’t aware of it. Maybe Paris was too busy to pay attention to a one-time hero it no longer needed.

As soon as Adrien detransformed, he wordlessly reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a piece of camembert. He didn’t even have time to extend his arm fully toward his kwami, Plagg, before it was snatched out of his fingers.

“Just one piece? You’re running me ragged out there, Adrien,” Plagg complained.

“Yeah, yeah,” Adrien muttered. He pulled out another piece and stacked it on top of the piece Plagg already had in his little arms. Plagg seemed satisfied, though he could barely see over the top of the stack as he carried it to the couch and settled down to eat.

Adrien had to pretend to be irritated with Plagg even when he wasn’t because his kwami seemed to thrive on it. Plagg cared about him but tried to keep that hidden behind a carefully constructed mask of laziness, sarcasm, and whininess. Adrien indulged him in that.

Adrien changed his clothes and brushed his teeth. At one point, he stopped and held his breath, listening carefully. He had thought he had heard footsteps outside his door, though it turned out to be a false alarm.

His one-time bodyguard, who he still called The Gorilla, was his legal guardian now that both of his parents were missing. The Gorilla allowed Adrien way more freedom than he ever had when his father had cared for him. Adrien was allowed to go out a lot more often now, and he was not required to have a bodyguard escorting him around town. But he did have to check in frequently and was supposed to let The Gorilla know where was going to be at all times. Adrien figured he still would not get a stamp of approval on being out until one in the morning, especially on a school night.

As Adrien was crawling into bed, he heard his phone beep with a new message. He opened it. It was from Nino.

“Hey. How’s it going?”

Adrien did the math. It would be early evening for his friend right now. His dinner had probably just ended.

“It’s going ok,” he answered.

“Dude, why are you texting me back? It’s late. Go to bed.”

Adrien smirked. “Stop messing with me.”

“Seriously though, are you sure you’re okay? Have you been getting out?”

“Yes.”

“With other people?”

Adrien paused at that one. He wanted to tell Nino yes, but it’d be a lie. He stared down at his phone for a minute. Then he turned off the screen and put it on his nightstand. Started to crawl into bed.

The phone beeped again. He sighed and picked it up.

“Do I have to get Alya on your case?” Adrien was trying to figure out how to respond when Nino sent another message. “Just kidding of course.”

“I’ll try, ok? I’m going to bed now.”

“Ok. Good night.”

Adrien turned off the screen again and lay down, pulling the blankets up over himself against the chilly air. He thought of the conversation he had just had. Nino could be awfully interfering sometimes, but Adrien knew he was right. He’d already been thinking it himself for a while now. He _did_ need to develop some friendships _._

Nino had joked before about asking Alya to check up on Adrien’s social life. Alya was a great person. She was kind-hearted, compassionate, friendly, and warm, much like Nino himself. But Adrien didn’t want to get together with large groups of people right now, and that was Alya’s forte. She liked to get groups together for parties, for trips to the movies, and that kind of thing. So those were the kinds of events Alya would want to invite him to. And if she thought it was helping Adrien, she’d persist with those invitations. And persist. And persist. That’s why Nino jokingly used Alya as a threat against Adrien.

Adrien rolled over in bed, feeling himself drifting off. Every night, he was surprised that he could ever fall asleep. He never felt relaxed.

As much as Adrien liked Alya as a friend, he couldn’t ask her to hang out one-on-one, which would be the type of friendship Adrien would prefer right now. Alya was his best friend’s girlfriend. Sure, Nino and Alya _said_ they were officially not dating now, since Nino had moved away. But the only people they might be fooling was themselves. Adrien knew Nino was still crazy about Alya and Alya was crazy about him. For Adrien to spend time with his best friend’s girlfriend, just the two of them, it would be inappropriate.

 _You already know who you could try to befriend_ , a little voice in his head seemed to say. He pushed it aside. Yes, he had thought of that before, but it made him uneasy. He preferred not to think it.

The little voice would not be ignored. _It’s not going to be easy with anyone. Might as well be her. Besides, she’s changed._

It was his last conscious thought before he fell asleep.

* * *

“Did you get what you came for? I want to go. This place gives me the creeps,” Plagg complained.

“No, I’m still looking,” Adrien answered vaguely as he opened another filing drawer and thumbed through the contents. It was early in the morning, still dark outside. Despite how quickly he fell asleep each night, he had a habit of jerking awake after just a few hours and not being able to doze off again. Plagg flitted through the office, grumbling under his breath about being in the office. Adrien ignored it.

He understood Plagg’s complaint. Being in his father’s old office made him uncomfortable too. As long as he could remember, it was a household rule that Adrien should not be in this room. Daddy did important work in there, Daddy was busy in there, Daddy shouldn’t be interrupted.

But Adrien wasn’t a little boy anymore, and Daddy wasn’t around. He had left for a business trip one day and had never come back.

It had been six months after Gabriel’s disappearance before Adrien had first worked up the nerve to enter his father’s office. The first time he walked in, he was surprised by how neat and orderly it was. The police had searched it thoroughly for clues shortly after Gabriel’s disappearance, and they hadn’t seemed particularly meticulous about putting things back where they belonged. Gabriel’s assistant, Nathalie, must’ve gone in and cleaned it up sometime between when the police had searched the office and when she herself had resigned a few weeks later.

Most of the drawers in the cabinets and desk had been locked that first time he entered; those that weren’t only held mundane office supplies. Adrien had gone back to the office several times over the course of the week, trying to find new clues to understanding his father’s disappearance. He even bribed Plagg to help him get into the locked drawers. Nothing had turned up.

But today, Adrien wasn’t looking for anything related to his father’s disappearance. He was looking, instead, for a binder that his father had kept. It was a binder that Gabriel kept constantly up to date with his most innovative ideas.

Often, Gabriel would be called on to design clothing according to a certain set of design principles that he had already established. He would be paid a lot of money to create something new, but it usually had to conform to certain expectations that the current market held about fashion, an existing set of current basic standards.

But as a designer, Gabriel also spent a good deal of time challenging the expectations and the basic standards. He visualized ways that new ideas could be incorporated into the market and eventually shift the overall trends in the fashion world altogether.

This binder had been where Gabriel would record those ideas in the form of sketches. Many times, the things he sketched here would never be created in real life. A lot of refinement was done between the designs that were kept in this binder and the actual garments that were created and modeled on a runway or in a magazine. But his father had said that the drawings contained in this binder were where the innovation truly happened.

Adrien had first become aware of this binder more than ten years ago.

On that day, Emilie Agreste had caught little Adrien in his father’s office without permission. He was laying on his stomach on the floor with the binder opened up in front of him. He was kicking his legs against the floor absently as he flipped through its pages. Each page contained anywhere from one to three sketches of a particular outfit. The outfits in the pictures ranged from sleek and understated to bold and whimsical. Most had a splash of color to accent a particular element, and some were fully colored in vivid shades of every hue. Adrien liked the pictures, but most of all, he had liked finding the stylized initials, G.A., on each page. G.A. for Gabriel Agreste, of course.

Adrien had been punished for his disobedience. But afterward, he had asked about the binder, and his mother had smiled down at him and explained what it was. Later that evening, shortly before bedtime, Gabriel himself had brought the binder into Adrien’s room and sat down with him, allowing Adrien to flip through the pages and ask questions. It was one of Adrien’s most pleasant childhood memories.

Adrien knew that the binder still existed somewhere. He even remembered seeing it when he had searched his father’s office before. But he could not remember where.

He closed one drawer, opened another.

“Why are you going through all this trouble for a girl?” Plagg demanded to know. “She already has a boyfriend, you know.”

“I know. It’s not like that. She’s just a friend,” Adrien responded patiently. “I hope,” he added, mostly to himself.

Plagg sighed and opened another drawer. He dived down into it, upsetting some papers at the top as he did. “Whatever,” he muttered. “Just wake me up when you’re done.”

Adrien scowled at the mess Plagg was making, then brightened. “Hey, this is it!” He reached in and grabbed the binder that Plagg was laying on, unceremoniously dumping Plagg onto the book that had been underneath.

“Hey!” Plagg protested. Adrien ignored it.

“This is it,” he said again, a little more quietly. He opened the book and thumbed through it, then closed it again. “Let’s go, Plagg.”

* * *

Adrien hung out near Marinette’s locker that morning, trying to look casual and feeling hopelessly conspicuous. He had a few of pages from his father’s binder in his hands, stacked on top of his geometry textbook.

There was a part of him that still wasn’t sure this was really a good idea, trying to reach out to Marinette as a friend. She was alarming, really. Unpredictable. She had had periods of time when she couldn’t speak around him, and just a brief period when she had seemed casually friendly around him. There was a period of time that he only remembered dimly through a foggy haze, right after his father had disappeared, when she had been _there_. Never at the forefront, always in the background, tagging along with Nino and Alya when they came to visit and to cheer Adrien up as best they could. She had been quiet, but she was _there_.

Then there was the whole episode at Nino’s going away party. When she first walked away from him, he thought maybe she was just embarrassed with the cake all over her that couldn’t possibly be completely cleaned up with just those silly napkins. He had no idea that she might be angry with _him_ until he heard Alya fuming and muttering under her breath. When she noticed him standing nearby, Alya apologized to him for the way Marinette had been acting lately. He’d honestly not noticed that Marinette was acting any particular way lately, though he hadn’t said that. He asked Alya _why_ Marinette was angry at him, but Alya snapped – _to_ him, not _at_ him – that she had no idea but she was sick of it.

For the last five months, though, Marinette had been very different. She seemed more confident around him than she ever had before. From the day she had changed seats to sit beside him in biology lab, she had finally started to act like someone he could have a one-on-one friendship with. She talked in complete, coherent sentences. She seemed to take a friendly interest in him when they were together.

She had apologized for the incident at Nino’s party. She had even acted like maybe she would say something about why she had been angry, but then she had hesitated, uncomfortable. He’d brushed it off, then. As long as she wasn’t still angry now, he didn’t see the point of asking her to say something she didn’t want to.

Good idea or not, though, he had committed to trying to reach out to Marinette. He even had something meaningful he could do for her as a way of showing interest and starting a conversation. With her interest in fashion design, he thought she might be very interested in seeing some of the sketches from his father’s binder.

But where was she? He’d been waiting by her locker for 15 minutes and class would start soon.

Adrien looked at his watch. Looked around. Pretended to look through his bag for something, just to look busy. Looked back at his watch.

A voice interrupted his awkward waiting.

“Aaaa-dri-ennnnn!”

It was, of course, Chloé Bourgeois. Once he had considered her a friend. That was long ago, before he had begun attending Collège Françoise Dupont. Now he recognized her as the manipulative, self-absorbed daddy’s girl that everyone else saw. He still had hope that she would become a decent person someday. But for now, she was wearisome. Especially because now, since he had ended his modeling career, he was often not sure whether Chloé was sincere when she talked to him or if she was just mocking him.

“Hi Chloé, what’s up?”

She draped her arms over his shoulders and kissed both his cheeks.

“Adrikins, it’s almost time for class! Why are you hanging out here when the door is over there?” He and Chloé had geometry together during first period, and indeed, the classroom door was just a couple of dozen feet behind him.

“I’m just waiting for someone,” he answered vaguely.

“What’s this?” Chloé demanded. She reached out and grabbed at sketches and the textbook that were in his hands.

“Chloé! No!” Adrien jerked the papers back.

Chloé scowled. Suddenly, her face brightened at something over his shoulder. “Hi!” Chloé greeted someone behind him.

Adrien turned to look. No one there. He suddenly felt another jerk and the books and papers slid nearly out of his grasp. He whirled back around. He had loosened his grip when he turned his head, and when he had, Chloé had tried again to grab his father’s sketches. His hands tightened at the last second, and Chloé lost her grip, but the stack of books and papers had been pulled nearly out of his hands. When Chloé let go, they went tumbling to the ground.

The textbook just hit the floor with a loud clatter, but the sketches on top fluttered and skidded until they slid right underneath Marinette’s locker.

At the same time, the bell rang.

“See you in class, Adrikins,” Chloé sang, as though nothing had just happened except a casual conversation. She practically pranced into the classroom. Adrien looked down. He saw the corners of the two pages peeking out from under the locker five feet away.

He started toward the papers when he heard a voice calling him.

“Class is starting, Mr. Agreste!” His geometry teacher, a no-nonsense middle-aged man who did not tolerate lateness, was holding the classroom door open. There was a note of warning in his voice.

No matter. He’d just get the papers after class. He walked into the classroom and threw a scowl at Chloé. She smiled sanguinely in response.

* * *

Marinette was late. Again. In the past, she always assumed this was a Ladybug thing, a response to staying out too late at night on patrols and being called away so often on business. But she had given up Ladybug’s duties nine months ago and tardiness was still a problem. It turned out it was a Marinette thing.

She took the stairs two at a time and skidded to a halt in front of her locker. She opened it and hastily pulled out her history book. _Too_ hastily, it turned out, because when the book came out, so did the two books on either side of it, along with a half dozen loose-leaf papers. She dropped to the floor and began gathering up her things. Some of the papers had gotten pushed up under the locker, barely sticking out. She grabbed those, too.

She bunched the papers together, then stopped and frowned. _These_ pages weren’t hers. She studied them curiously. They were two sheets of paper, with drawings on each side. Each side of each paper depicted a different outfit.

 _Who do these belong to?_ she wondered. Were they meant for her? They had been under her locker. But if they were meant for her, wouldn’t they be _inside_ her locker? And who would’ve given them to her? Maybe it was from one of the other design club members.

There was no time to ponder it now. She was late. She threw the sketches on top of her history book, put the other books and loose papers back in her locker, and sprinted to class.

She settled down behind her desk sheepishly. She opened her book and tried to focus on what her teacher was saying.

It was impossible. Whether it was that the lecture was dull, or she was frazzled by being late, or she was too busy thinking about the sketches she had found under her locker, there was simply no way she could pay attention to her teacher right now. She eased the sketches out from under her history book and laid them on her lap, behind the desk where her teacher couldn’t see.

She studied them more closely now. She at once saw the initials, “G.A.”. She assumed this was the designer’s signature. She thought through the names of all of the other design club members. Enzo Laurent, Andrea Boucher, Chloé Bourgeois, Valerie Girard… she kept going down the list all the way to the end. No, no G.A. there.

She put aside the question of who had created the sketches and focused on their content instead.

These sketches were interesting because they didn’t quite match up with current fashion trends. They were close – any of these outfits would _almost_ fit in a fashionista’s wardrobe, but there was something unexpected in each one. A rather large, boxy silhouette in this one. A modern fabric pattern with a decidedly retro fit in that one. Her mind raced with possibilities that she hadn’t considered before as she examined each outfit carefully. She was thinking about how she could apply some of what she was seeing here in her own work.

She jumped guiltily when the bell rang. What had the teacher been discussing all this time? She didn’t even know what the general topic was. It would have been just as well if she hadn’t made it to class at all.

She caught Alya’s arm as the other girl gathered her things.

“Uh, Alya?”

“You want to borrow my notes?” Alya asked.

“How did you know?”

“Are you kidding? You were looking at your lap the whole time you were here. You didn’t even look up when Mr. Chagny asked you a question.”

“I did? I didn’t? I mean… he asked me a question?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry, I got your back. I diverted his attention with a question of my own. What were you so busy looking at anyway?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, they’re someone’s design sketches, but I don’t know who they belong to.” As she spoke, Marinette fumbled through her belongings, pulled out the sketches, and handed them over to Alya. “They were under my locker.”

“Another design club member maybe?” Alya suggested as she flipped through them.

“That’s what I thought, but the only thing that resembles a signature are the initials G.A., and that doesn’t fit any of the names.”

“Hmm. What do you think of them? Are they any good?”

“They’re great! Very inspiring. They make me want to sit down with my sketchbook.”

Alya cast a worried glance at the sketches. “Are any of these going to show up in my outfit? Maybe I’d better take a closer look,” she said.

Marinette grinned. “Maybe. But I promised you your outfit will be tasteful. Don’t worry about it.”

“Well,” Alya said as she handed the papers back to Marinette, “school will be over in another seven hours and then it can be just you and your art.”

“No,” Marinette lamented. “In another seven hours, I have to work on my biology lab with Adrien.” She sighed heavily.

Alya gave her an amused look, then shook her head without saying anything.

The rest of the day passed slowly. Marinette counted down the classes until the day would be over. Five. Four. Three. Lunch was over. Two. One.

When the last bell finally rang, Marinette went straight to Adrien’s locker. He was there.

“Hi, Marinette,” he greeted her. “Are you ready to go work on our lab report? I know you’re excited about labeling those cut-up frogs.” There was a slight, very slight note of teasing in his voice. Marinette did not love the dissection part of the biology class. She made Adrien do all the cutting. She did the sketching and labeling. It was better, but only by a little.

Marinette pursed her lips thoughtfully for a moment. Should she ask? “Actually… I’ve had something come up. Last minute. It’s- well, it’s important to me. Do you think we could wait and work on our lab tomorrow instead?” She smiled as winningly as she could.

Adrien looked skeptical. Irritated, maybe. “Tomorrow? It’s due Friday.”

“I know. I promise. Tomorrow.”

“Right after school?”

“No, I have the fashion design club meeting after school. But it’s only an hour, and right after _that_. I _promise_ ,” she said again.

“Okay,” Adrien agreed reluctantly.

Marinette ran home and dashed up the stairs to her room, barely pausing to brush a feathery kiss on her mother’s cheek on the way. She threw her bag down next to her desk, rifled through it, and pulled those pages from G.A. out again. They were slightly wrinkled from being handled so hastily; she smoothed them out and looked over them again.

Where _had_ these come from?

She frowned and picked up her phone. She wanted to send a group text for the sake of time and energy, but for some reason, that felt too public. So, she opted to text one member of her fashion design club at a time.

She didn’t bother with Chloé. If these were Chloé’s sketches, she decided she’d rather just find out the hard way.

Marinette tapped a pencil on her desk as she waited for replies to come in. A few more taps. She frowned at her phone. Maybe she didn’t have good reception? No, it looked fine, and she had never had reception problems in her room before.

Marinette opened her purse. Maybe she could talk to Tikki about this. No, Tikki was curled up asleep. Marinette smiled at her, grabbed a cookie from the stash she kept inside her desk drawer, and tucked it in next to her. Tikki liked to have a snack when she woke up.

Marinette tapped the pencil again. She couldn’t wait any longer. She grabbed a sketchbook and set to work. She had just started on her first design when a text finally came in. Andrea wasn’t missing any sketches. The next text came shortly after. Neither was Valerie.

The texts continued to roll in, all of them giving the same basic answer to the question. Nobody was missing any of their work. Marinette continued to sketch and to color.

Two hours later, Marinette sat back in her chair and held up her pages. There were three of them. They were distinctly Marinette’s work, but she had borrowed ideas from G.A.’s drawings in these creations.

She couldn’t help but squeal with delight as she looked at them. These were so much better, she thought, than anything she had created for the fashion design club before. She opened her folder and pulled out the sketches she had shown at last week’s meeting. She sat her new sketches side by side with the old ones. Yes, the difference was clear.

Marinette opened the folder where she stored all of the papers she took to the fashion design club meetings and slipped them inside. She hoped that the rest of the club was as impressed by her latest work as she was.

**FEBRUARY 1**

Marinette walked into her fashion design club meeting the next day practically vibrating with excitement. She walked up to Ms. Fontaine first, before the meeting had yet begun.

“Ms. Fontaine, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, Marinette, go ahead.”

“This is kind of silly, but I just wondered if you might’ve… I don’t know, left something in my locker for me the other day?”

Ms. Fontaine gave her a curious look. Marinette immediately knew how silly it sounded, the idea that a teacher might try to stuff a note through the vents in a student’s locker like any other teenager. Or fumble the note and have it get shoved underneath the locker instead.

Marinette smiled weakly.

“No, I didn’t, Marinette,” Ms. Fontaine finally answered. Her smile was warm and if she had been taken aback by the question, she did not show it now.

“Okay, thanks,” Marinette replied with relief. She took a seat around the table with the other students.

They breezed through the first parts of the meeting and Marinette barely noticed the conversation going on around her. She was thinking again of those sketches in her folder.

Finally, the time came when the club members began sharing their work with the others.

Chloé Bourgeois, of course, got the usual litany of compliments and interesting feedback on her designs. Normally, right about now, Marinette would have been privately wishing that Chloé had not taken a serious interest in fashion design over the past two years. Unlike Marinette, she had family connections that had given her the opportunity to spend some time with industry professionals. She had managed to land an internship this past summer as an assistant to the assistant of Meg Bellamy, an up-and-coming local fashion designer. It turned out that Chloé had a dormant talent for fashion design. After two years of study, she was getting good.

But today, Marinette was too excited about her own drawings to focus any attention at all on her jealousy toward Chloé.

When it was Marinette’s turn to present, she suddenly forgot everything she had been planning to say. “I, um, I had some new inspiration last night,” she said weakly. Better to let her designs speak for themselves, she decided quickly. So with no further talking, she laid her sketches out on the table, separated and spread out so everyone could see.

It was quiet for a few seconds, and Marinette held her breath.

“I really like these, Marinette,” Enzo finally said. He pointed to one of her designs in particular. “I love the way you’ve combined those flowing lines here with the tailored fit. It gives an interesting retro flair to an otherwise modern look.” Marinette was elated. Enzo was the club president and Marinette thought he was very talented. Maybe even better than Chloé. His opinion meant a lot.

“This one is really interesting,” Andrea added, pointing to a different design. “I’ve never seen a necklace that looks quite like that, and the color blocking is nice.”

Other students began chiming in, murmuring their appreciation.

“Yeah, well, I think they’re pretty awful.” That was Chloé. Some of the other club members ignored her. Others looked at her in surprise. Ms. Fontaine, however, always the good-natured one, smiled at Chloé.

“Would you care to elaborate?” she asked pleasantly. “What constructive feedback would you give to Marinette about them?”

“Well, the hem on this one is way too long,” Chloé asserted. “The pockets on this one are ugly and dated, and this one? Do I even have to start?” She looked around the faces of other members. She looked slightly put off that no one was nodding in agreement.

Ms. Fontaine smiled again. “Well, Chloé, you are certainly welcome to have your opinion. I, however, disagree with you. Marinette, this is some of the best work you’ve ever shown us. Thank you for sharing them.” Marinette beamed with pride.

The meeting wrapped up soon afterward, and Ms. Fontaine addressed the students as they were packing up to leave.

“Please don’t forget to be thinking about the fashion show next month,” she advised. “We got a little sidetracked today with the sketches, but there is still a lot of work to be done. Miss Bourgeois is attempting to use her connections to get professional designer Meg Bellamy to attend our show! I encourage you all to work very hard to be prepared. Please be sure to thank Miss Bourgeois for her efforts when you get the chance.”

Marinette picked up her bag and had started out the door when Andrea Boucher stopped her. She was in her last year at lycée, among the oldest students in the club.

“Hey Marinette, those were really great designs you showed us,” she said sincerely.

“Thanks, Andrea,” Marinette beamed.

“What did you mean when you said you had some new inspiration?” she asked. Marinette noticed a few of the other club members looking their direction. She wished now that she hadn’t said anything at all before she laid her sketches out.

“Well, I was looking at somebody else’s designs,” she said slowly. “They were just sketches.”

Andrea looked puzzled by that response. “Whose sketches were they?”

“I’m not sure,” Marinette answered truthfully. “I found them in my locker.” No, that was a lie and she knew it. She corrected herself. “I mean, they were under my locker, but I think they were meant for me.” Not quite true, but good enough; no one could prove how little she was sure that they were meant for her at all. “They were only signed with the initials G.A.”

“Well, where are these mystery sketches?” Chloé demanded. “Aren’t you going to show them to us?”

Marinette was immediately defensive. “I didn’t bring them.”

“Well, when are you going to?” Chloé insisted.

Marinette might’ve retorted rudely, but they were interrupted by Ms. Fontaine.

“Students, I really do need to leave promptly which means you need to leave the classroom. Please continue your discussion somewhere else.”

Marinette was thankful that Chloé just harrumphed and walked away, grumbling about how she had better things to do anyway.

The students trickled out quickly, and nobody bothered Marinette any further about her designs. That was good because she needed to get home now to meet Adrien and work on their lab report as she had promised.

With the near confrontation with Chloé averted, her good mood quickly returned. She flew to the bakery on light feet. She fleetingly thought about transforming into Ladybug and swinging through the streets like in the old times, with the wind whipping past her face and the thrilling sensations that came with it. It would certainly fit her current mood.

She was glad that she didn’t, because Adrien arrived at the bakery at the same time she did.

“Adrien! How are you? Are you ready to work on the lab?” she asked, her grin still wide with elation.

“Well, yeah. That’s why I came,” he replied, smiling only slightly in return.

They walked in, said hello to Marinette’s parents, accepted the treats that her mother pushed into their hands, and climbed the stairs to Marinette’s room.  Marinette hummed a song just under her breath as she pulled a second chair over to her desk and sat down.

“You’re certainly more excited about this lab report today than you were yesterday,” Adrien observed. He leaned over and started digging through his bag to find their assignment.

“I’m not!” Marinette giggled. “But I just got out of the most _amazing_ meeting with the fashion design club.”

He straightened up, holding the lab papers. He laid them on the desk, but he pushed them aside without looking at them. Instead, he leaned with his head propped up on one hand and smiled at her encouragingly. “Tell me about it.” He meant it.

Marinette was surprised. She was so unused to seeing Adrien smile a real smile lately. She’d forgotten what it looked like.

“Well, I presented some new sketches that I had just finished. And I really liked them, but I wasn’t sure what others would think of them. I had been inspired by… well, I had just drawn inspiration from a new source.” She wasn’t sure that she wanted to tell him about the drawings that mysteriously showed up under her locker. It reminded her too much of the time Adrien had found a book about the Miraculous holders in his dad’s hidden safe. And a discussion about Miraculous holders would surely open up the forbidden topic of Ladybug and Chat Noir. She went on.

“But everyone really seemed to be impressed with them.” She wanted to add, “Everyone but Chloé, but that’s Chloé,” but she thought that might sound petty.

“Can I see them?” Adrien asked.

“Yeah, sure!” Marinette opened her bag and pulled out blue folder at the top. She carefully pulled her sketches out from the folder and passed them to Adrien. He thumbed through the sketches, examining them for a minute.

“These are really good, Marinette,” he said, not looking up from the pages. He thumbed through them for a bit longer, then smiled as he passed the folder back to Marinette.

“Really?!” Marinette may not have a crush on Adrien anymore, but as a one-time model, his opinion about fashion design was still important.

“Sure. I’d wear any one of them. Well, maybe not the dress.”

Marinette glanced up at him, a little surprised by the joke, but all she said was, “Thanks.” She took the sketches back from him, gazed at them for a few seconds.

She realized suddenly that Adrien seemed to be waiting, and so was that lab report. Abruptly, she put the sketches aside and cleared her throat.

“I guess we’d better get started though, huh?” she asked, opening her bag and rummaging through it for her lab notes.

* * *

The report was finally finished, and Marinette was glad it was done, but now came the most awkward part of working on their lab assignments. The part where they said goodbye.

When she had sat down next to him on that first day in the biology lab, she thought that being lab partners would quickly break the ice between them. Even after that painful first session, when he had shut down her attempt to bring up their alter egos, she stuck with her plan. Over the next couple of months, she invited him every week to stay afterward and play video games, or eat dinner with her family, or any other normal stuff that she might invite any friend to do. He’d turned her down every time. After a while, she had stopped asking.

Now, she busied herself with putting her papers back in her bag while Adrien stood and picked up his own backpack.

“So, what are your plans for the rest of the evening?” Marinette asked casually.

“I’ve got homework,” he answered.

“I see.” A beat.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Just hanging out here at home I think. Luka is going to come over for dinner.”

“Sounds fun,” Adrien said. “I’d better go.” He paused a few seconds. “Thanks for sharing your sketches with me,” he added. Marinette smiled before walking with him to the door and saying goodbye.

When she returned to her room, Tikki came out from her hiding place.

“It was nice to see Adrien smiling and joking today. Even just a little bit,” the kwami observed.

“It was,” Marinette agreed. “I don’t think I’ve seen him like that in a long time.”

“Do you still think that losing his best friend is what’s driving his depression?” Tikki asked innocently.

Marinette gave Tikki a sidelong glance.

“I know what you’re getting at, Tikki. I know you think he misses being Chat Noir and you want me to talk to him about it. But I tried to bring that up once before, and he wanted nothing to do with it. There’s probably a good reason that he doesn’t want to talk to me about our alter egos, and it’s best if I just leave it alone unless he says something first.” Marinette paused a few seconds before adding, “And yes, I still think he might just be having a hard time adjusting socially since Nino left.”

Tikki pursed her tiny lips and gazed at Marinette with an unreadable expression.

* * *

Unbeknownst to Marinette, Chat Noir crouched low on the rooftop of their old school, Collège Françoise Dupont. He could see the bakery from here, and he idly watched as Luka approached the building and walked inside through the main customer entrance on the front street. Chat Noir could see through the windows as Tom greeted Luka and then ushered him through a door in the back to the main living area for Marinette’s family.

It wasn’t that late in the evening, but it was winter, so it was already quite dark outside. Cold, too.

Chat Noir sat still for a few minutes longer, watching other passers-by as they ambled along the street.

He then turned quickly and made his way to Lycée Leroux. He came here almost every evening. He scanned the window. Most nights, he knew where some unlocked ones would be. This was because he usually unlocked the windows in his own classrooms during the day, and he did it specifically for the purpose of getting inside at night.

He located one of these unlocked windows, then climbed and leaped until he reached it. He pushed it open and slipped inside.

He made his way to his own locker, a stop he didn’t usually make. He gave a furtive look around. There was no one there. _Of course, there’s no one here_ , he chided himself. He opened his locker, pulled out a plain black binder. It was not, of course, the same binder he had taken from his father’s office. But it contained full-color copies of all the pages from the original binder. He had returned the original binder to the drawer in his father’s office that he had taken it from.

He closed the locker again and made his way to another hallway with another row of lockers.

The lockers themselves were only eight feet high, and the ceilings here were around twelve feet high. With the ease that came from a combination of supernatural agility and practice, he leapt and swung himself up on top of these lockers. On the wall, just below the ceiling, there was a two-foot by two-foot panel. He pushed inward on this and it moved easily. He climbed inside.

The next few minutes were spent in a dark winding passageway. He moved easily and confidently though. He’d done this easily a hundred times since the start of the school year when he had first discovered it. Presently, he turned a corner and there was the opening where the passageway ended in a large room.

In his present Chat Noir form, he could easily and gracefully leap down, and so he did. He had made this trip a few times when he was just Adrien, and that had been a little trickier.

This secret room in the school building had clearly been forgotten in recent times. There were a few chairs – some folding chairs, an armchair and sofa set, even a beanbag chair – but the styles and the layers of dust that had covered them when he first discovered them told him that they were quite old. There were several folding tables, too, also old, and a small bookshelf with deep shelves but which only stood as high as his waist. All of this furniture took up only the half of the room that was right underneath the entrance to the passageway. The other half of the room was empty except for several stacks of what seemed to be old gym mats.

The first time he found this place, the chairs and tables had already been set up in a living room-type arrangement. He used to wonder what the story was behind that. Was this some secret hideout where students used to come when they were cutting class? Or a place where building maintenance workers used to come to take unauthorized breaks during the workday? He also used to wonder how furniture and gym mats had been carried into the room in the first place. There were no obvious doors and the only way in and out he knew of was through the passageway. He had long since stopped caring about either of these things.

There was a small but bright battery-operated lantern in the middle of the table that dimly illuminated the half of the room that had the furniture. Unlike the other things in the room, the lantern was not old; he himself had brought this in himself.

Chat set the black binder down on top shelf of the bookshelf and then detransformed. He once again reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a wedge of cheese without a word. Plagg took it and settled down comfortably on the table near the lamp before starting to eat.

“So, did you ask her if she found your dad’s sketches?” Plagg asked with his mouth full.

“Don’t you know? You were with me the whole time,” Adrien answered.

“I was napping pretty much from the time you left for school this morning until you transformed. You keep me up too late. Did you ask her if she found them?”

“No,” Adrien admitted. “But I know she did. She drew some of her own designs and I could tell she had incorporated some of my father’s ideas in them.”

“That’s good, right? That Marinette found them and not somebody else? Are you going to show her any of the others?”

“No. I mean, yes, but not like I had planned.”

Adrien had originally intended to share the sketches with Marinette in person because the point had been to get her attention and find some common ground they could share. But when she found the sketches without knowing the source, she had used them to create something she was really, _really_ , proud of. She had been positively bubbling with excitement when she had talked about her design club meeting and when she had shown him the sketches.

He wasn’t sure she would’ve done the same thing if she had known where the sketches had come from. She might not have allowed herself to use the ideas she had seen if she had known they were his father’s work. She might have worried about it being disrespectful to Adrien or his father, even if Adrien had tried to assure her it wasn’t.

So now he had a new plan. He would continue to give Marinette more of the sketches anonymously. He wanted her to be able to keep using them without reservation.

By now, Plagg had taken Adrien’s phone and was engrossed in watching videos, leaving Adrien alone to think. Adrien picked up the binder he had just brought in and flipped through the pages of sketches. He figured there had to be at least a hundred pages in here. He wondered how long they would last before they ran out and he had nothing more to give.

He flipped through the pages for a few minutes longer before choosing two to take out. These would be the next ones he would share with Marinette.

He studied them for a minute, frowning at the initials on the page. G.A. He wondered if Marinette would eventually figure out what that stood for. He could try to scribble them out before giving her the new drawings. But she already had the first set of drawings and those had had the initials too. If he tried to scratch the initials out on future drawings, it might backfire by drawing even more attention to them. He’d just have to leave them.

Adrien put the two pages down on the table and then flopped back in the armchair, craning his neck a bit in a futile effort to see what Plagg was watching. He didn’t feel like going back out yet. But there was little to do here.

He stood up again and paced the room restlessly for a few minutes. Sat down again. Stood up and returned to the bookshelf. Aside from the binder with his father’s sketches, there was one other binder here. This one was blue and also plain and was where he kept his notes about the people who had died or disappeared around the same time that Ladybug had disappeared. He picked it up off the shelf and carried it back to the armchair. He sat on the edge of the chair, opening the binder on his lap, flipped through its pages.

Jeanne Dubois had passed away the day after he last saw Ladybug, but she was 87 years old. Probably not Ladybug.

Cyrille Lefebvre had also passed away the day after he last saw Ladybug and had been substantially younger. But Cyrille was a man. Also probably not Ladybug.

Olivia Rousseau had been reported missing two days after he had last seen Ladybug and was 17 years old when she disappeared. She had been his most promising lead when he first started compiling this list. When he investigated further, he found out that she was paraplegic and had been in a wheelchair most of her life. She, too, was probably not Ladybug.

He closed the binder and dropped it on the floor with a deafening clap that echoed through the room. Plagg gave him a reproachful look before turning back to his video.

Adrien leaned back in the chair, closed his eyes, breathed deeply again. Tonight was one of his better nights. At least he wasn’t crying.


	3. Chapter 3

**FEBRUARY 5**

Not only was Marinette at school on time on Monday morning, she was actually a little early. She’d been doing that for the past week. She wasn’t really _expecting_ that she would ever receive more sketches from the mysterious G.A. again, but there was a little part of her that couldn’t help but hope.

Alya was arriving at the building the same time as Marinette, so the two girls walked inside together. As they approached her locker, Marinette surreptitiously scanned the floor, wondering if there would be more papers sticking out from underneath it. There weren’t. But when she unlocked the locker and opened the door, two loose pages fluttered to the floor.

She couldn’t suppress a little cry of joy as she reached down and picked them up.

Alya looked over Marinette’s shoulder to see what she had. “Are those your designs? Or…?”

Marinette glanced up at Alya eagerly. “They’re not mine.” She checked, and yes, there were the initials on the drawing again, same as before. “They’re from G.A.! Alya, I was right! This means the designs I found last week _were_ meant for me.”

“What’s this, Marinette?” Luka was approaching her now.

“New G.A. designs,” she explained. She had, of course, told him all about the designs she had found under her locker last week. She handed him the new pages, and he glanced them over.

“These were _in_ your locker?” he asked.

“Uh-huh.”

His expression darkened, so slightly and so briefly she was almost sure she had imagined it. He handed them back to her.

“So G.A. really _is_ targeting you with these designs,” he said.

“I guess so.” As Marinette looked up to meet Luka’s eye, she saw Adrien walking along the opposite side of the hallway. He was sticking so close to the opposite wall that he was actually touching it, but he was looking at her.

She caught his eye and gave him a little wave. He looked a little startled and fidgeted uncomfortably with his bag, but then he returned the wave with a small one of his own before turning away to face the direction he was walking.

She suddenly realized that Luka was holding the new sketches out for her to take back, so she did.

“You still don’t know who G.A. is, do you?” Luka asked.

“No,” Marinette replied. She might’ve said more, but now her attention was being summoned by Valerie Girard, a fellow design club student.

“Excuse me, Marinette, are these the designs you mentioned after our meeting last week? The ones from G.A.?”

“Not the same ones, but they’re by the same person, I think.”

“You think? You haven’t found out who’s giving them to you?”

“Not yet.”

“May I see them?”

Marinette turned the pages toward Valerie to let her see, but she kept her hands on them protectively. Letting Alya and Luka hold them was one thing, but she wasn’t sure she was ready for just anyone to have them. After all, they were meant especially for her.

***

Marinette left the new sketches in her locker all day because she couldn’t afford to completely miss another lecture the way she had last week. But she made sure to put them in her backpack before going home.

Luka was waiting for her in the hallway near the building’s exit. He often walked her home after school if both of their schedules allowed for it.

“Hey, you,” she greeted him with a smile.

He smiled and put an arm around her shoulders. They walked side-by-side with comfortable familiarity. Luka didn’t talk much, but that wasn’t unusual. Marinette was too busy thinking about the new designs from G.A. that were in her backpack to say much herself.

When they arrived at the bakery, they entered through the front door to greet Marinette’s parents first, then headed up the stairs to Marinette’s room. As soon as they entered, Marinette went to her desk and opened the drawer where she kept the designs she had received from G.A. last week. She pulled them out and put them on top of her desk, then pulled the new ones out from her backpack and put them next to the old ones. She sat down in her desk chair and leaned over the two sets of designs, examining them closely.

Both sets of sketches certainly looked like they had been made by the same person. They had the same feathery pencil strokes used to create the outlines, and it looked like the colors had been added in the same medium – colored pencil, Marinette thought. What really clinched it, though, was the initials on the sketches. The G.A. were stylized in the same distinctive way.

She was aware of Luka looking over shoulder, and then of him pulling the extra chair over and sitting down next to her.

“Were you expecting to receive any more designs from this G.A. person?” he asked casually.

“No. In fact, when I first got these out of my locker today, I kind of wondered if it could just be a prank from one of the design club members,” she admitted. “But the drawing and coloring techniques look the same, and the signature looks the same. I’m pretty sure they really are from the same person.”

“So instead of a prankster, you have a… a what? A secret admirer? An obsessed fan?” He finally took his eyes off the sketches and looked up at her.

Marinette giggled, but quickly realized Luka hadn’t meant it as a joke.

“It’s just a gift,” she said, a little more defensively than she had intended.

“A gift from whom?”

Marinette pursed her lips. “I thought you said you weren’t the jealous type, Luka.”

Luka shook his head. “I’m not. This isn’t about me being jealous.” Then, in a low, concerned voice, he added, “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Hurt? I appreciate what you’re saying, but there’s no reason to think G.A. is someone who wants to hurt me.”

“And there’s really no reason to trust that they’re not.”

Marinette shook her head but didn’t say anything. Luka pressed the matter further.

“No offense, Marinette, but you’re kind of tiny. If someone _was_ trying to hurt you, do you really think you could fight back?”

Marinette pressed her lips together. She knew, of course, that she was more than capable of taking care of herself. Not that her superhero powers were _meant_ to be used for personal self-defense. And depending on the situation, it might be hard to keep her superhero identity a secret from the attacker, though that hardly seemed _quite_ so important these days now that Hawk Moth was gone. Still, if push came to shove, the answer was yes. She could fight back if she really needed to.

But Luka didn’t know about that.

So instead, Marinette said, “It’s okay, Luka. The only thing G.A. has done so far is give me some designs. If something more happens… I’ll deal with it then.”

Luka looked as though he wanted to say something, but then he seemed to think better of it.

Marinette was eager to change the topic, so she collected the sketches – both the new ones and the old – and put them back in her drawer as if she were no longer interested in them.

“So, do you have band practice tonight?” she asked. Monday nights were often band practice night. When they were, he usually stopped by her house late in the evening on his way home.

“Actually, I do. We’ll be practicing for the new show we just scheduled.”

“A new show? When?

“March 5th. Right after school.”

“March 5th? But that’s…”

“At the same as the fashion show. Yeah.” He grinned. “Ms. Fontaine said that she wants us to play a show between the end of classes and the start of the fashion show. Something to keep the audience entertained while they wait, I guess.”

“That doesn’t make sense. The fashion show was going to start right after school,” Marinette said. “I hadn’t heard that the schedule was going to change. Everyone from the club will already be there if it’s right after school, so why push the start time back?” Her eyes suddenly widened in excitement “Ooh! I wonder if it’s something to do with Meg Bellamy!”

“Meg Bellamy?”

“Yes, she’s a local fashion designer. Ms. Fontaine’s been working to try to get her to attend our fashion show. Maybe she’s going to come but she can’t be there until later in the afternoon. I bet that’s it! This is so exciting!”

Luka shrugged. “I guess you’ll find out soon enough,” he answered. Then he pushed his chair back from the table and checked the time. “But I have to go now. I’ll stop by after band practice, okay?”

Marinette nodded. Luka stood, then leaned down for a quick kiss. Before he could pull away, Marinette put a hand up to his cheek, keeping him there just a little bit longer.

When she let go, she opened their eyes and saw that he was just now opening his too. They smiled at one another briefly.

After he had left, Marinette felt herself itching to open her drawer and pull out the new sketches from G.A. She’d examined them for authenticity, but now she wanted to see what new inspiration she could draw from them.

But she had other pressing things to attend to. The fashion show was four weeks away and she really did need to choose an outfit for Alya to wear. She wanted to use one of her newest designs for the show, and any of them would require significant work. They all had distinctive pieces, garments that wouldn’t just be in her friends’ closets or even easily purchased off the rack. She would have to pull out her sewing machine and create something new.

So, instead of pulling out the new sketches, Marinette took out her new designs and laid them on her desk. There were five of them now: the original three that she had shown at the last fashion club meeting, and then two more she had come up with since then.

She could start by eliminating the most obvious. Two of the designs were menswear. One was a business casual sort of look, with dark jeans instead of trousers and rust colored vest under a blazer. She set it aside.

The other was a classy casual look in blacks and grays. A tailored dark gray button-up shirt added a hint of formality under a well-fitting but decidedly informal jacket, black pants and shoes. Marinette felt a small twinge of regret as she set this one aside, too. It was her favorite one by far.

This left Marinette with three outfits to choose from. The first was a burnt-orange jumpsuit with a fitted waist and wide legs. It had white accents and her design included a coordinating necklace and earrings. The second featured a red-violet dress with a mock turtleneck and a flared skirt. The third was a winter ensemble with a fitted, textured sweater and a short, black leather skirt over dark opaque leggings.

Marinette eliminated the winter ensemble. Not only did this one not fit Alya’s style, but there was also the matter of the leather skirt. The skirt was the distinctive piece there, so she couldn’t buy something just like it even if she wanted to spend the money to do so. And she didn’t have the time or experience working with leather needed to make it herself.

She looked at the two remaining options: the red-violet dress and the orange jumpsuit. There were no reasons to eliminate either of these, she decided. She’d ask Alya which one she would prefer.

It was getting near dinner time and Marinette still had homework to do. She decided to deal with those things first. It was well into the evening by the time she messaged Alya.

“Can you come by my house for a few minutes?”

“Sure. Why?”

“I want you to help me pick your outfit for the fashion show.”

“Be there in 15.”

Marinette checked the time before she put her phone down. Luka’s band practice was probably over by now. He’d be here anytime, too.

It turned out that Alya and Luka arrived at the same time. Marinette took both of them up to her room where the designs were still out waiting on her desk.

Alya strode in behind her, grabbed Marinette’s desk chair, and flopped into it dramatically, allowing it to swivel a little before putting her feet down and crossing her arms as if bracing for the worst.

“So what do you have for me, Marinette?” she asked.

Marinette took the two remaining contenders from her desk and pushed them toward the other girl. “I’ve narrowed it down to these.”

Luka, having noted that the two girls were talking about the fashion show and that this might take a while, picked up a novel that Marinette had left setting out on her nightstand and sat down on the bed, flipping through it.

Alya looked at the two sketches that Marinette had handed to her. Relief washed over her face.

“These… these are actually good, Marinette,” Alya said. “Not that I thought you’d do a bad job,” she quickly added. “But no chicken feathers or garbage bags. I can do this.”

Marinette grinned. “I’m glad you approve,” she said drily.

“Which one is your favorite?” Alya asked.

“This one seems like it would fit you best,” Marinette said, pointing to the jumpsuit.

Alya noticed Marinette’s phrasing and looked up at her. “That’s not what I asked, Marinette. Which one is your _favorite_?”

“Well, my favorite one for _you_ is the jumpsuit,” Marinette said, pointing to the burnt orange outfit again.

“I do like it,” Alya confirmed. “But you should put _your_ favorite design in the fashion show. I can wear the red-violet dress if that’s what you like.”

Marinette smiled at her friend’s encouragement, but then sighed. “Actually, neither of these is my favorite,” she admitted. “This one is.”

At this, she reached over to the stack of options she had eliminated and pulled the black and gray men’s outfit from it, handing it to Alya.

“But, I think you’d rather wear something more feminine for the show.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean that this one isn’t the right design. It just means that I’m not the right _model_. Believe me, I will not be the least bit disappointed if you find someone else to model for you. And you’ve got a guy right here,” she pointed out, nodding her head toward Luka. “Ask him to do it.”

Luka looked up from the novel with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re talking about me? I can’t do it. Kitty Section is going to play before the fashion show.”

Alya opened her mouth to say something, but then her phone made a noise.

“Just a second.” She picked it up to check it and became engrossed with what she saw on the screen.

Marinette noticed Luka’s sense of relief at having a good reason to say no to Alya’s modeling idea. It wasn’t like Marinette would have seriously asked him to do it. He didn’t like being in front of an audience, except maybe when he was playing with his band. Even then, he was content to stand to the side while he played, letting the other band members draw most of the attention.

So, no, Marinette might not seriously ask him to model for her, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t tease him about it.

“I bet if I ask, Ms. Fontaine will let my design be the last one down the runway. I’m sure that would give you plenty of time to change your clothes after your concert.” She grinned slyly.

“No, I’m very sure it wouldn’t,” Luka replied with a grin of his own.

“You’re cute when you’re making excuses,” Marinette giggled as she leaned in close to him.

“You’re cute all the time,” Luka answered and kissed her.

Marinette started to kiss back, but just then, Alya made a frustrated noise that drew both of their attention. She was still on her phone, but she must’ve realized they were staring at her because she proceeded to explained herself.

“Sorry, it’s just this video someone sent me. Someone claims they saw Chat Noir out roaming around their neighborhood last night. But it’s too dark to be sure of anything, just like the others.”

“Really?” Marinette asked, trying to sound only casually interested. “What do you mean ‘like the others’?”

Alya was looking at her phone again. “People have been sending me stuff like this ever since Ladybug and Chat Noir retired. They want me to post it on the Ladyblog.”

“So why don’t you post them?”

“It’s not that I don’t _want_ to. I would love to have new content. The Ladyblog’s been dead since Ladybug and Chat Noir retired. But the Ladyblog is also dedicated to posting only honest, accurate information. The videos and photos that people send me are either obvious fakes or are too dark or poor quality to be of any use. See?”

She handed the phone to Marinette, who played the video that Alya had just been looking at. Luka watched it too, over her shoulder.

The video was short, about seven seconds long. It had been taken at night, a good hour after sunset, judging by the dark shade of blue that was the sky. At first, Marinette didn’t see anything moving at all. Then right at the end, a dark shadow that was clearly humanoid could be seen running across the rooftops.

Alya had categorized this video as too dark to be sure of what she was seeing, but privately, Marinette was certain this was a fake. The shadow in the video didn’t move at all like Chat Noir did. And he was a little too stocky, a little too short. It was a pretty good fake and would probably fool most people, but not Marinette. Not Ladybug.

She handed the phone back to Alya.

“It may not be post-worthy,” Luka said to Alya. “But as editor-in-chief of the Ladyblog, you’ve probably seen more videos of the real deal than we have. What do you think? Could it really be him?”

“Nah,” Alya responded. She took the phone and started the video again, eyes glued to it as she spoke. “No way. Chat Noir and Ladybug aren’t in Paris anymore. They retired because they discovered each other’s identity and fell in love. They ran away to Spain, got married, and now they have a baby on the way.”

“Alya! They did not!” Marinette sputtered. She felt her face growing hot and only hoped neither Luka nor Alya would notice her blushing. “They’re just kids like us,” she mumbled.

Alya laughed, amused by Marinette’s reaction. “Maybe. Or maybe their disguises just make them look that way.”

“But why would they run away to get married?” Luka asked, playing along with Alya. “Why wouldn’t they stay and get married in France and continue to protect Paris?”

“It’s way too dangerous to be superheroes if you want to start a family. Not to mention hard to find a babysitter for all their patrol nights,” Alya explained knowledgeably.

“They don’t need a babysitter for patrols,” Luka countered. “They could just go out one at a time while the other stays home with the kid. They only need a babysitter if something actually comes up and they have to fight, and that never happens anymore.”

The two of them continued their hypothetical conversation, but Marinette tuned them out. Although Alya’s video surely wasn’t of Adrien, she was thinking about him now. She wasn’t thinking of him being Chat Noir, but she was thinking about the way he had behaved when they had worked on their lab report on Thursday. He had shown an unusual amount of interest in her design sketches.

And suddenly, Marinette had a new idea come to mind. It was a long shot. There was a good reason she hadn’t thought of it before now, even if it seemed obvious in retrospect.

Marinette mused on this for a while, although eventually Luka called her attention back to the conversation. Fortunately, by that time, the topic had moved away from the domestic lives of Paris’ ex-superheroes.

After a while, Marinette’s parents came upstairs and politely told Marinette that it was late and she would have to say goodbye to her friends.

“Wait a minute,” Alya protested as Marinette started to escort her and Luka out of the room. “You never chose a design for the fashion show.”

“I think I did,” Marinette replied.

**FEBRUARY 6**

On Tuesday evening, Adrien headed over to Marinette’s house to work on their weekly lab report. He was in what could almost be described as a good mood as he made his way there. He wondered whether she would still be reacting to the new sketches he’d put in her locker the day before.

He had seen her there, probably right after she found them. She had been staring at the sketches and surrounded by several curious on-lookers. Everyone had been focused on the drawings. Adrien of course liked that Marinette was excited about the drawings. That was why he was giving them to her in the first place. But he found that he also liked that the drawings were attracting attention from other people, too. It made him feel influential. Important.

He thought it was kind of ironic that he took so much pleasure in that. At one time, he had been a model for one of the world’s most well-known fashion labels. His very job description as a model had been to be influential over people’s decisions. And yet he had quit that career as soon as he realized that he could.

But this was different. For one thing, it was something that was his decision alone. Modeling… well, it wasn’t like his parents had ever forced him to model against his will. But it had certainly been an expectation placed on him from the time he was young. Clean your room, Adrien. Brush your teeth, Adrien. Pose like this while someone takes your picture, Adrien. It was something he was told rather than asked to do, and he had done it without question.

For another thing, the mystery he had inadvertently created was fun. There hadn’t been much mystery in being a model. Everyone knew who he was. He could hardly go anywhere without being recognized or followed around. With the sketches, nobody knew who was really behind all the fuss. It kind of reminded him of what it was like to be Chat Noir with the anonymity and the secretiveness.

That thought, of course, reminded him of Ladybug. He quickly shoved that aside. There’d be plenty of time to think about that later. But now it was hard to keep the darkness from creeping back into his thoughts.

The way things were going with his father’s sketches was not at all what he had intended. There were some fun aspects, but he had failed in the one thing he had set out to do, which was find something he could share with Marinette. What a wasted opportunity.

Adrien arrived at the bakery and entered through the front doors that faced the street, as he usually did. And as usual, he greeted Mr. Dupain and Mrs. Cheng politely. They returned his greeting warmly and let him into their living area, directing him up to Marinette’s room.

He knocked on Marinette’s door. She called out to let him know he could come in, so he turned the knob and went inside.

“Hi, Adrien,” Marinette greeted him. She stuffed a paper into a desk drawer and shut it very quickly.

Was that a new design she had created? He thought about asking. But Marinette didn’t look like she wanted to talk about it, or anything else. She was all business as she laid their biology assignment on the desk and started in on the report. They worked together for a solid two hours and the whole time was spent talking solely about the assignment at hand.

As they finished up their work, a feeling of disappointment settled over him. She looked just as distracted now as she had when they started. That would be all for today, he figured. He picked up his bag.

Suddenly, Marinette spoke up.

“Adrien, can I ask you something? A favor?”

 _A favor?_ He stopped and turned toward her. “Yeah?”

When she spoke again, it was rushed and disjointed. “The design club is going to put on a fashion show next month. March 5th. We’re all supposed to enter one of our designs into the show and find a model for it. You kind of seemed interested in some of the designs I showed you last week – Do you remember? You even said you’d wear them – and I wondered if maybe… I mean, I know you don’t model anymore and maybe this is the last thing you’d want to do. But you seemed really interested in the designs. You can say no of course.”

She paused here and seemed to be waiting for a response.

Adrien blinked. “Are you asking me to model one of your designs for the fashion show?” Even if he had been sure that’s what she meant, he would have asked that anyway. He was stalling for time. He hadn’t seen _this_ coming. He hadn’t modeled in a long time and he definitely didn’t miss it. And this fashion show sounded like runway modeling, which was really the worst, and…

Marinette’s cheeks turned pink then, and she looked away. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry. It’s okay.”

 _Shit, come on_ , Adrien chided himself. He was being stupid. Of course, he should do this favor for Marinette. It wouldn’t be that big of a deal, it would make her happy, and the last thing he should be doing right now is turning down the chance to do something for her.

“No, I’d be happy to do it,” he said sincerely.

She turned and looked at him with surprise. “Really? Because you can say no,” she repeated.

“And turn down the chance to wear a Marinette Dupain-Cheng original? No way. I’ll do it.”

Maybe, he thought, this was going to work out for him after all.

**FEBRUARY 8**

Marinette could still hardly believe that she had asked Adrien to model for her in the fashion show, and she was even more surprised that he had agreed. But she couldn’t say she wasn’t pleased.

First of all, she was glad to see Adrien engaged in something other than schoolwork. He had even seemed enthusiastic about it, after that initial moment where she wondered if she had something wrong.

Secondly, Alya had approved of Marinette’s decision as well. “I told you I wouldn’t be disappointed if you found another model,” she had said. “And believe me, I’m not.”

And last, though probably not least, Marinette was happy that she would get submit her favorite design to the fashion show after all.

When she walked into her design club meeting the following Thursday, she was once again looking forward to it. She even had some new sketches that she was ready to share with the rest of the club.

When Ms. Fontaine began the meeting, she said they would spend the first half of the meeting discussing the fashion show. “It’s coming up quickly, students. Just three weeks away!”

Chloé’s hand shot up.

“Yes, Miss Bourgeois?”

“I’m sure you were about to share with the club about Meg Bellamy’s decision to attend our show. She emailed Daddy last night and said that as a _personal favor_ to _me-“_

Ms. Fontaine cut her off with a tone of voice that Marinette thought was entirely too kind.

“Yes, Chloé, that was going to be my first topic for the meeting. I am so happy to inform all of you that Meg Bellamy reached out to me earlier this week and said she _will_ attend the show. She will share her feedback with each of you privately after the show. To accommodate her schedule, however, we will have to move the time of the fashion show back an hour.”

The students murmured excitedly, but Enzo was already raising his hand.

“Yes, Mr. Laurent?”

“I appreciate your effort in getting Miss Bellamy here, Ms. Fontaine,” Enzo began. Chloé made an exasperated noise at this. “But if we don’t start the fashion show right after school, won’t most of our audience get bored and leave before it begins?”

“I understand your concern, which is why I have already reached out to some of my students who have a band. I’ve asked them to play a concert that will begin right after school and last until the beginning of the fashion show. Kind of an opening act.”

Enzo seemed satisfied. Marinette smiled. She had been right. The reason Ms. Fontaine had asked Kitty Section to play their concert _was_ to accommodate Meg Bellamy’s schedule.

“We must remember, students,” Ms. Fontaine continued, “that Meg Bellamy is quite busy with her professional work. She is paying us a great honor by taking time out of her busy schedule to attend our show, so we must show her the utmost courtesy and respect while she is here. Yes, Ms. Bourgeois?” Because indeed, Chloé’s hand had shot up again.

“Let’s move on to the next order of business. What will be the lineup for the show?” she demanded.

“The lineup?” Ms. Fontaine seemed confused. Chloé rolled her eyes.

“The order that our designs are on the runway? _Mine_ should be at the end of the show.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow in confusion. Since when had Chloé ever wanted to be _last_?

As if to answer Marinette’s unasked question, Chloé continued. “You see, I’ve read that a good fashion show saves its best design for the very end. It keeps the audience in their seats because they won’t want to miss the very best the show has to offer.”

Marinette thought this sounded suspiciously false. She glanced around at the other members and saw her own skepticism mirrored on their faces.

“Chloé, that doesn’t really sound-“ Enzo began tentatively.

“I read it on the internet so it must be true,” Chloé snapped.

When Ms. Fontaine spoke, her tone of voice was once again far more gracious than Marinette had thought possible. “Well, Miss Bourgeois, we’re going to keep things simple. We’ll start with our oldest student and progress down to our youngest student.”

Chloé whipped around to Marinette. As the only two first-year lycée students in the club, they were by default the two youngest students. “When is your birthday?” she demanded.

“January-“ she began. She didn’t finish before Chloé cut her off.

“It won’t work, Ms. Fontaine. My birthday is before Marinette’s.”

Ms. Fontaine stared at Chloé. “Miss Bourgeois, the… lineup, as you say, is a decision that belongs with the event coordinator. I am the event coordinator, and I say we will go in order of age. There is no favoritism in it.”

Chloé reached for her phone. Marinette knew that look on her face. Chloé was about to threaten to call someone. Maybe her dad, the mayor. Maybe Meg Bellamy. Whoever it was, Marinette had seen this trope unfold many times and she didn’t feel like wasting her time or anybody else’s. And Marinette certainly didn’t care whether her design was last or not.

“It’s fine, Ms. Fontaine,” Marinette said loudly. “I’ll switch places with Chloé. It’s fine.”

“Miss Bourgeois,” Ms. Fontaine started uncertainly, “I really don’t think-“

“Really, it’s fine,” Marinette repeated.

Ms. Fontaine looked frustrated for a brief moment, but then she smoothed her face into its usual pleasant expression.

“Okay. Thank you, Miss Dupain-Cheng.”

Chloé shot Marinette a look, and of course it was one of smug victory and not appreciation. Marinette grit her teeth. _It’s not worth it_ , she said to herself.

After that, the meeting progressed smoothly. They finished up their discussions about the fashion show with enough time to share their work with each other, so Marinette got to show her new designs to the group. Once again, her fellow club members were impressed.

All except Chloé. Chloé looked especially disgruntled as the club members discussed Marinette’s work. She didn’t speak at all during the meeting, but she was waiting for Marinette as the meeting adjourned. She followed Marinette out the classroom door.

“Marinette, where are the pictures that you received from… who did you say it was? G.A.? Whoever it is that you’re copying in your designs lately.”

Marinette stopped and turned, quickly debating how to respond. She chose to ignore Chloé’s implied accusation.

“They’re at home, Chloé. Why?”

“You didn’t bring them to share with the club? Didn’t you know the rest of us would want to see them to?”

“No, I didn’t bring them. G.A. gave them to _me_. Not to the club.”

“I think you just don’t want to bring them because you know you’ll get in trouble when everyone sees that you’re plagiarizing someone else’s work,” Chloé fumed.

“It doesn’t matter what you think, Chloé,” Marinette said evenly. “You’re wrong.”

Marinette suddenly caught sight of somebody out of the corner of her eye and glanced down the hall. Adrien had appeared from around the corner and was now stopped, watching the two girls argue.

Marinette returned her gaze to Chloé and continued to stare at her coolly. She saw Chloé glance dismissively toward Adrien too.

“Marinette’s telling the truth,” a voice said. Marinette looked up. Valerie Girard had just come out of the classroom and it was she who had spoken. “Chloé, Marinette showed me some of the sketches that G.A. gave her. The designs that Marinette showed in the meeting aren’t the same. I could see that there is an influence, but she isn’t directly copying.”

Chloé glared at Marinette angrily.

“Fine. I’m still going to show everyone that I’m better than you, Marinette. I’m still going to win the fashion show. My design is going to be amazing. _And_ ,” she said haughtily, “it’s going to be last.” She stalked off before Marinette could correct her. It was a fashion _show,_ not a contest. There was nothing to win.

Valerie gave Marinette a quick, sympathetic look, and Marinette smiled gratefully toward the girl. They mumbled goodbye to one another before Valerie hurried down the hall to her locker.

Marinette turned then and saw that Adrien was still standing in the hallway, looking at her. She felt self-conscious all of a sudden, and she fiddled with one of the ribbons in her hair, adjusting it unnecessarily.

“Hi, Adrien,” she said.

“Hi, Marinette. Is everything okay? I mean, you and Chloé…” he trailed off.

Marinette waved her hand. “It’s nothing, really. Chloé’s just… competitive, you know. The fashion show is kind of bringing it out in her.” It certainly wasn’t nothing, and she had much choicer words to describe Chloé than “competitive,” but she would not vent to Adrien about this. He had been friends with Chloé once.

“What did she mean when she said her design was going to be last?”

“Oh. Um, she meant it literally.” Adrien looked confused, so Marinette continued. “She was talking about the order that our designs were going to be displayed in the fashion show. Ms. Fontaine was going to put them in order of our ages, but Chloé insisted on switching places with me so she could be last in the show. She says it’s a position of honor because it indicates that it’s the design that the audience is most excited to see.”

“Oh. Does she know that’s… not really a thing?” Adrien asked.

Marinette shook her head. “Nope.”

Marinette turned to look directly at Adrien, and he was looking back at her. For the first time, the whole thing struck Marinette as extremely funny. She laughed then – nearly cackled with glee. Adrien managed just a barely audible chuckle. It was the first time she’d heard anything like a laugh from him in ages.

*** * ***

He was really grateful, he decided, that Marinette never asked him why he had happened to be in that hallway more than an hour after classes were over. If she had, he might’ve told her the truth – that he had stopped by specifically to see her. And that might give her the wrong impression. Plagg had already reminded him that she had a boyfriend.

He hadn’t heard the whole conversation between Chloé and Marinette, but he had heard enough to know that Chloé was giving Marinette grief about the sketches he had put in her locker.

He thought also of something Marinette had told him, about how Chloé had insisted on switching the order of the fashion show so that _she_ could be last. Chloé was a bully. She had probably bullied the whole design club to get what she wanted. That was her power. But he had a little power, too, in the attention he had gained as the anonymous “G.A.”

Would it be enough? Probably not. He had to admit it was pretty weak. He wouldn’t even dare try it except that there was safety in the anonymity of it. Whether it worked or not, no one would know it was him. So what could it hurt to try it and see what happened?


	4. Chapter 4

Marinette spent her weekend hard at work on Adrien’s outfit, and by Monday she felt like it was well underway.

She had started Friday evening with taking Adrien’s measurements because of course, he didn’t have his measurements on hand now like he might’ve had two years ago.

Marinette never admitted it out loud to anybody, but she had felt a certain amount of anxiety about taking the measurements herself. There was, after all, a certain physical closeness required for the job that made her blush. Every time her face got hot at the thought of it, she would remind herself that she wanted to design clothes for a living, this was something she’d have to get over.

Fortunately, the task ended up being less embarrassing than she feared. She kept her face turned away from him, focused all her attention on the measuring tape, and resolved to speak as little as possible. It helped that he was used to being measured and therefore didn’t need any instructions from her. If he had noticed her anxiety, he had the grace not to say anything.

On Saturday, she went to the thrift stores. She managed to find a pretty good match for the pants that she wanted. They would definitely be too long and possibly too wide, but she expected the alterations to be relatively easy. She was delighted to find a jacket that might not require any changes at all, which was good because it was lined, which threatened to make alterations much more time-consuming.

Since the shirt was rather unique to her design, she knew she wasn’t going to find anything very similar to it in the stores. She was looking only for a good match in terms of fabric and color in a size large enough to ensure that once it was ripped apart seam-by-seam, it would provide enough material to manufacture a new shirt from a pattern she’d create herself. Even so, she visited five stores before she found something useable.

On Monday morning, Marinette was at her locker before school, putting away textbooks that she had taken home for the weekend and envisioning how she would draw out the new pattern, when she realized Valerie was approaching her. The girl looked more tentative than usual, walking slowly and leaning slightly forward, hugging a couple of textbooks to her chest. She peered anxiously at Marinette from behind the dark rims of her glasses.

“Hi, Valerie,” Marinette greeted her as the girl came close.

“Hello, Marinette. I’m glad I found you. Do you have a minute?” Valerie asked.

Marinette looked at the time, a little surprised at the question. “Well, class _is_ about to start, and I have to go up a flight of stairs,” she said as she shut her locker door.

“I’ll walk with you,” Valerie offered. Marinette nodded and the two girls started toward the stairs.

“I got something in my locker today,” Valerie began. “It’s a design sketch. It has the initials G.A. on it.”

Marinette stopped short, and Valerie stopped next to her, looking anxious again. When Marinette didn’t speak right away, Valerie continued.

“I think it looks similar to the one you showed me on Monday. But I wasn’t sure. I thought maybe you could take a look and tell me what you think.”

Marinette nodded and Valerie unfolded her arms, bringing the textbooks down with them. The sketch was lying on top. It was from G.A., all right. Marinette knew that at glance, because she herself had received that very same sketch the previous week.

Still, Marinette took it from Valerie and examined it closely. Everything was the same as she remembered, right down to the stylized initials at the bottom of the design. Marinette was aware of a slight twinge of jealousy that flickered through her mind. She pushed it aside.

She then noticed that Valerie was still peering at her with a hopeful expression on her face.

“It looks like it’s authentic to me,” Marinette said as she handed the page back. Valerie’s face broke into a grin, and Marinette couldn’t help returning a sincere smile at the other girl’s excitement.

Valerie’s expression was quickly replaced by a puzzled one. “But why did I get this? Did you get a new sketch today too?”

Marinette shook her head. She started to speak, but then the bell rang and she groaned. Mr. Chagny had mentioned just last Friday that he’d been impressed by her recent track record of punctuality.

“I’ve got to go!” she said over her shoulder as she took off for the stairs.

* * *

On Tuesday, Marinette was headed to her last class before lunch when she heard Andrea calling out to her from behind her in the hall. Marinette stopped and turned. Andrea was her making her way toward Marinette through the crowded hallway, apologizing to each person she nudged aside to clear her path.

“Marinette, have you seen Enzo today?”

“No,” Marinette replied slowly. “But I usually don’t see him except at our meetings. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine. He was looking for you this morning, that’s all.” Andrea paused, but when Marinette did not speak right away, she continued. “He got something in his locker today. A design sketch.”

“And is it signed G.A.?” Marinette asked faintly.

“Yeah,” Andrea said with a grin. “He’s way excited about it, but he’s trying to be cautious. He wants to compare what he got to some of the sketches you’ve been given to see if they’re really from the same person.”

“I don’t have any sketches with me today. Have you checked with Valerie? She got one yesterday.”

“Really?” Apparently, this was news to Andrea. Her eyes lit up with excitement. “This is so cool!”

The two girls went to their respective classes after that, but Marinette met up with Andrea and Enzo at lunch and confirmed that, indeed, the sketch that Enzo had received was from the same person who had been giving her sketches as well.

* * *

On Wednesday, Marinette was thrilled when she opened her locker and a new sketch fluttered out and slid across the floor. She picked it up and glanced it over, smiling more with satisfaction that she hadn’t been forgotten than at the actual design on the page.

She hummed a little as she slipped the page into her backpack, then stood to hoist the bag up to her shoulder.

And then two other girls from the design club walked by. The shorter one, a girl with red braids named Eve, was clutching a paper in her hands, and her face was eager.

“Marinette!” Eve called to her brightly. She waved a paper toward Marinette excitedly. “You’ll never guess what we got in our lockers today!”

* * *

On Thursday, when Marinette entered Ms. Fontaine’s classroom after classes, the students were buzzing with excitement. Marinette was not surprised to find out that two more of the club members had received designs that day. Although that brought the total number of recipients up to six, that still wasn’t quite half the club.

Those who hadn’t received a design were eagerly examining the ones that others had brought in to the meeting.

“His designs just really aren’t my style,” Valerie was saying as she passed the sketch she had received to the student sitting next to her. “But I’m glad I got one.”

“Do you think these designs really belong to the person who’s giving them out though?” another student asked as he examined the design that Eve was passing around. “Maybe they’re just copying someone else. I swear I saw this exact outfit out on a runway sometime last year.”

“I just wonder when _I’m_ going to get one,” a third student remarked with a bitter note in her voice.

* * *

On Friday, Chloé got _her_ design from G.A. Alya and Marinette were walking through the hallway toward their history class when they saw her standing next to her locker, examining a paper closely while her loyal companion, Sabrina, stood nearby, watching Chloé’s reaction intently. Marinette slowed to watch Chloé’s reaction too.

Chloé’s eyes were wide and her jaw was slightly dropped in a look of surprise. She turned the paper over to examine the other side. Marinette had already seen there was nothing on the back, but at that moment, she could see the sketches on the front and she knew for sure that this was of G.A.’s designs.

Chloé looked up then, and Marinette could see that the look of surprise had turned into one of undisguised excitement.

“I knew it!” Chloé exclaimed. She started walking down the hallway toward Alya and Marinette without ever acknowledging the two girls. Sabrina followed closely at her heels. “I knew that G.A. never meant to exclude _me_.”

She continued talking, but she had passed by the girls now and was out of earshot.

* * *

By Monday, Marinette had stopped bothering to keep up with G.A. and his designs. She had plenty to keep her occupied anyway with her work on the outfit for the fashion show. There were only two weeks left, and she really wanted to have the shirt finished by Wednesday night so that Adrien could try on the outfit Thursday after the design club meeting. That would give her a week to make further alterations, if necessary, and then one more weekend to finish any remaining details.

Late Monday evening, Luka came over to Marinette’s house after band practice. Marinette looked up from the table where she was working when he entered the room from the stairs below.

“Hey,” she greeted him with a wide smile. She sifted through pattern pieces pinned to layers of fabric, then picked up the one she’d been looking for. “I’m afraid I’ll be busy this evening,” she said apologetically. “But you’re welcome to stay as long as you want. I’d love the company.”

“I’ll stay.” He sprawled himself out on the couch comfortably. After a moment, he leaned over to open his guitar case.

While he pulled out the guitar and checked the tuning, Marinette concentrated on matching up the edges of two pieces of fabric. Once she was satisfied that they were aligned correctly, she slid a straight pin in to hold them together.

“How was band practice?” she asked as she slid in a second pin.

“It was okay,” Luka answered. He paused, then added, “Rose and Juleka want to send an audition recording to La Serrurerie to see if we can book a show there.”

Marinette paused here to look up at him, her eyebrows raised with enthusiastic surprise.

“That’s a great idea! A lot of good bands have played that club.”

Luka shrugged and strummed a minor chord. “I don’t know. We’re not that good yet.”

“No way! I’m sure you guys would have no trouble booking a show.”

Luka smirked at her. “You may be a little biased.”

Marinette grinned back. “I may be biased, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

Luka shook his head, still smiling, and strummed another chord.

Marinette picked up the two pinned pieces of fabric and began to line them up underneath the needle of her machine.

“So who got a design from G.A. today?” Luka asked.

“I’m not sure. I think there might have been more than one.” Marinette thought for a moment as she stitched the two pieces together. “I guess Enzo got one today, because I heard Andrea tell him she thought it must’ve been meant for her.”

She raised the presser foot and pulled the fabric out. She clipped the thread with a pair of scissors.

She hunted around on the table for two other pieces of fabric. She found them, aligned them, and slipped in a pin. Something must’ve shifted when she did that. The alignment looked off now. She removed the pin and started over.

Marinette suddenly became aware of the tune that Luka was picking out on the guitar, and she smiled in spite of herself. She looked up at him. He was looking back at her with a mischievous expression.

The tune he was playing was one from a song he had written himself about her. It had intentionally silly lyrics about blue eyes like the sky and hair as black as jet, about tripping and stumbling and falling for him. It was purposely cheesy, the rhymes were terribly awkward, and he had made half of it up on the spot, loudly, in front of their friends, without even trying to pretend that he didn’t have a terrible singing voice. Somehow it made the song all the more endearing.

Marinette finished aligning the two pieces and pinned them together, successfully this time, and she couldn’t help but hum softly along with Luka’s song. She checked the alignment of her seam under the needle again, put the presser foot down, and began to sew.

Luka stopped picking out the melody of his serenade and went back to strumming familiar chord progressions. Marinette continued her work, enjoying the comfortable silence between them.

* * *

**FEBRUARY 23**

On Thursday afternoon, Marinette walked wearily into Ms. Fontaine’s classroom for the design club meeting. She had vowed to herself that she would finish the shirt the previous night and she had done so, but at the expense of most of her night’s sleep. She wished she could be taking a nap instead of attending the meeting because her day was really only half over. Adrien was going to meet her at her house after the design club meeting to try on his outfit, and after _that_ she was supposed to study with Alya for tomorrow’s history exam.

Ms. Fontaine was not in the room when Marinette walked in, but Enzo and Andrea were. They sat at one end of the table with their heads close together in quiet conversation. They were studying a piece of paper in front of them. Another design from G.A., Marinette had no doubt.

She took a seat just a couple of chairs away and reached into her bag for the sketches which she would be sharing with the club later on in the meeting. They weren’t her best. They weren’t even really her latest sketches. She had grabbed an older doodle from her sketchbook on her way to school this morning because she had never found the time earlier in the week to work on something new.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Enzo look up, seeming to notice her for the first time.

He grabbed the paper off the table, then leaned back in his chair and shifted his hands so that the paper was underneath the table instead of on top. If he was trying to be subtle about the fact that he hiding it, Marinette thought, he had failed miserably. She eyed him suspiciously.

Andrea giggled. “Enzo, you should just tell her,” she said, nudging him in the arm. “I don’t think this is going to stay a secret for very long.”

Marinette looked from Andrea to Enzo and back again, waiting for an explanation.

Andrea gave Marinette an apologetic look. “Enzo is really looking forward to the fashion show, and he’s worried that if there’s any drama it might end up canceled.” Off Marinette’s quizzical look, she added, “It involves Chloé.”

Andrea turned to Enzo then. “Really, if you got one then I bet someone else did too. Or if not, they will. Just tell her.”

Enzo glared at Andrea and sighed. He put the paper back on the table.

“It’s not a design. It’s a note.”

“A note?”

He nodded. “From G.A.”

Marinette stared at him, dumbfounded. He didn’t continue. He seemed to be watching her reaction carefully.

“What did it say?” Marinette finally asked.

Enzo’s gaze lingered on Marinette just a second longer, but then he held up the paper up and read it aloud. “’To the fashion design club at Lycée Leroux: The designs will be discontinued unless Chloé is put back in her proper place for the fashion show.'”

Marinette raised an eyebrow.

“Let me see.” She reached out for the paper. Enzo hesitated, but then he passed it along the table to her. She read it for herself. The note was handwritten, she noticed, in all capital letters. She stopped and lingered on the initials, G.A., at the bottom.

Marinette looked up at Enzo. He was looking at her expectantly.

“Do you know anything about it?” Enzo asked. There was an obvious implication in his voice.

“No! I wouldn’t do something like this. You think I would?”

Marinette was only vaguely aware that other students had begun to trickle in and were watching the scene in front of them with curiosity. She barely noticed when one of them reached for the note, and she automatically handed it over without thinking about what she was doing.

Enzo shrugged. “I’m just saying, whoever wrote the note wants the lineup for the fashion show changed back to the way it was originally supposed to be. The change only affected two people, Chloé and you.” Then, talking over Marinette’s shoulder, he said, “Valerie, could I have that back please?”

“So you think _I_ wrote the note? I agreed to Chloé’s demand to change the lineup in the first place because I don’t care about it.”

Enzo sighed. “No, I wasn’t accusing you of anything. At least, I didn’t mean it that way. I just thought that maybe you’d know something. You were the first one to get designs from G.A., and now there’s this note making a demand that really seems to only benefit you.” Again, he spoke over Marinette’s shoulder. “Eve, that’s mine. Could you please hand it over? No, Zoe, please…”  He pushed his chair back and stood, making his way around the tables and chairs and students.

Marinette sighed too, turning to continue facing Enzo as he moved past her. “It benefits me? The lineup—”. She stopped. Why did no one seem to understand that her placement in the lineup made no difference to her? She tried a different response. “I understand what you’re saying, but I swear, I don’t know anything about the note or the designs that anyone has been getting.”

Enzo didn’t seem to hear her since he was now interested only in getting the note back. Around her, Marinette could hear the other students reacting to what they had read.

“No more designs in our lockers?”

“That’s too bad. I was looking forward to more.”

“What has Chloé said about this?”

“Am I the only one who didn’t even get a design?”

“Andrea didn’t get one.”

“Neither did I.”

“I heard Enzo got two.”

“I’m pretty sure that second one was supposed to be mine.”

“Eve got two, too.”

“Marinette got more than that.”

“I don’t care. I didn’t like G.A.’s style anyway.”

And then, “Marinette!”

The chatter in the room died down. Chloé had the note in her hand now. Enzo was nearby, standing nearby with his hand out expectantly. Chloé threw the paper down carelessly on the floor and approached Marinette with a menacing glare as Enzo scrambled to pick it up.

“Chloé—” Marinette began.

Chloé didn’t let her finish.

“This is pathetic. _You_ are pathetic. I can’t believe you’re going through all this trouble to take away something that is rightfully mine.”

“I’m not. I didn’t have anything to do with the note. Or the designs. I don’t know who—”

“Pfft. Whatever. Who else would have a reason to write something like this?”

Any answer Marinette might’ve given was cut off at that moment, when Ms. Fontaine entered the classroom. Chloé rounded on her sharply.

“Ms. Fontaine, you’re not going to change the lineup for the fashion show, are you?”

Ms. Fontaine, who hadn’t even made it three steps into the room, stopped short and looked around the room in confusion. “The lineup? Change it? To what?”

Chloé put both hands on the table in front of her, leaning her weight into them toward Ms. Fontaine, fixing the woman with a steely glare. “My design is going to be on the runway last, right?”

“Chloé, chill out,” Andrea said. “Enzo got a note in his locker today, Ms. Fontaine.” She glanced at Enzo, did a double-take, then sighed in exasperation. “Enzo, show Ms. Fontaine the note.”

Enzo stopped trying to stuff the note into his bag. He shot an irritated look at Andrea, but then pulled it out and handed it to Ms. Fontaine.

Ms. Fontaine looked it over. Her expression remained completely neutral. She walked back to her desk, her eyes still remaining on the note.

Then she placed the note on her desk and looked up at the class as pleasantly as ever. “Students, let’s begin our meeting, shall we?”

“Ms. Fontaine,” Chloé burst out, “what about the note? Are you going to let Marinette get away with this?”

Ms. Fontaine gave Chloé a placid smile. “Perhaps we can discuss that after our meeting is adjourned.” Chloé’s mouth flew open but Ms. Fontaine kept going. “Miss Dupain-Cheng, are you available to speak with Chloé and I after the meeting as well?”

Marinette shifted in her seat and murmured that she would stay.

“Fine, whatever,” Chloé muttered.

Ms. Fontaine smiled again.

The meeting continued, but Marinette’s mind was on Chloé and the note. It seemed terribly unfair that she was getting blamed for this. She was glad she could trust Ms. Fontaine to be reasonable about it.

When the meeting was finally over, the rest of the students trickled out from the room. Chloé and Marinette stayed behind. Chloé stood and walked over to Ms. Fontaine’s desk with an aggressive posture. Marinette, not willing to let Chloé have the upper hand, followed.

Enzo tried to stay behind too, under the pretense of packing his bag incredibly slowly, but Ms. Fontaine pointedly dismissed him before she spoke to the two girls.

“Have a seat,” Ms. Fontaine said once the room had emptied, indicating the chairs nearest her desk. Chloé and Marinette both sat, while Ms. Fontaine leaned back against the desk in a half-sitting position. She picked up the note in one hand and then folded her arms over her chest.

“Girls, I am not going to change the order of the lineup that we decided on two weeks ago.”

“Ha!” Chloé gloated.

“Miss Dupain-Cheng, do you know who might be behind all of this? First the designs, then the note. You do seem to be at the center of it all.”

“It wasn’t me!” Marinette protested for what felt like the hundredth time in the past hour.

Ms. Fontaine smiled. “No. I believe you, Marinette.” Marinette felt a surge of relief to hear someone say that. Ms. Fontaine continued. “But I don’t appreciate the drama that this person is creating within our club. If you do know who it is, please ask that person to come speak with me.”

Marinette shook her head again. “I’m sorry, Ms. Fontaine. I don’t know.”

Ms. Fontaine looked at her thoughtfully, then nodded.

“Of course. You are dismissed, Miss Dupain-Cheng, Miss Bourgeois.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Marinette was slumped over her desk with her arms crossed on the surface and her cheek resting on her arms, waiting for Adrien to get back from the bathroom downstairs. She was optimistic that the fitting would go well and she’d have time to sit down for at least a small snack before the study session.

She had no such luck, though.

“Oh!” Marinette let out the little cry of surprise before she could stop herself when Adrien stepped into the room. “Uh, well, I had _expected_ to have to make some adjustments.”

Adrien gave her an awkward half-smile, while Marinette stifled a giggle.

The shirt she had made was much too broad across the shoulders. The armholes were several inches past his shoulder and the cuffs of the sleeves went past his fingertips. On its own, it might not have been so funny, but combined with the too-big pants that she had not yet altered either, he looked rather like a boy playing dress-up with a grown-up’s clothes.

He hadn’t even bothered putting the jacket on over the ill-fitting shirt, so he carried it draped over his arm.

 “I don’t know what happened,” Marinette said apologetically, grabbing a pincushion off her work table. “Come over here, under the light.”

He walked – or shuffled, rather, in his too-long pants – over to the area close to the lamp where it was brightest.

Marinette zeroed in on one of the armholes of the shirt. She didn’t have to ask him to hold his arm out. He did it naturally, as if he had anticipated what she was about to do.

She took hold of the armhole and slid it up until it was positioned correctly at his shoulder, rolling the extra fabric between the collar and the armhole to the inside. She carefully slid a couple of pins into the fabric to hold it in place.

“How are things going with the design club?” Adrien asked.

“The design club is fine,” Marinette answered vaguely. She felt around the armhole where it was now pinned in place. Was it too big? No, she didn’t think so. She shifted her attention down to the cuff. The sleeve was still a little too long. She reached for another pin and knelt down beside him.

“Have you had any more fights with Chloe?”

“No, not really.” She was trying to pin the cuff in place, but there was a stiff interfacing sewn into it which made it difficult to push the pin through.

She stopped pushing on the pin and glanced at the clock. She should be leaving for the study session at Alya’s in five minutes.

She sighed to herself. She knew her terse responses to Adrien probably sounded rude. As she started pushing on the pin again, she tried to come up with a way to summarize all that was going on with the club over the past couple of weeks.

“There wasn’t really a _fight_ ,” she began. “Someone asked for Chloe’s place in the lineup to be switched again, but Ms. Fontaine refused. I think it’s for the—”

Adrien gasped and flinched away from her reflexively.

“Sorry!” Marinette cried. The pin had suddenly broke through the interfacing. She hadn’t been paying strict attention to it and hadn’t stopped pushing quite as soon as she should have. It had jabbed Adrien’s wrist with some force.

“It’s okay,” he assured her as he reassumed his position. “Believe me, it’s not the first time.”

Regardless of his reassurance, Marinette was still embarrassed and refused to try to mix anymore small talk with her work. She pushed the pin back up the other way and moved on to the rest of the outfit.

“I think I’m done,” she finally said. She stood up again and gave one final check over the outfit to make sure everything looked right now.

She looked at the clock again and Adrien must’ve seen her tense expression.

“You’ve got somewhere to be?”

“Yeah. Study session with Alya,” she explained.

He nodded. “I’ll be quick changing then,” he said.

Marinette smiled at him ruefully. “Sorry about all the pins. Good luck not getting stabbed again.”

He waved a hand dismissively as he headed down the stairs. “It’s okay. I’m used to it.”

* * *

When she finally arrived at Alya’s apartment, Marinette felt obligated to explain her tardiness, which meant relating the stories about both the fitting and the design club meeting.

Alya was laying on her stomach across the foot of her bed, digging through her backpack for her history notes when Marinette got to the part about the note from G.A. Her friend looked up with interest then, her history notes immediately and completely forgotten.

By the time Marinette had detailed Ms. Fontaine’s final conversation with her and Chloé, Alya had her chin propped up in one hand. There was a glint of excitement in her wide eyes.

“So how close do you think you are to figuring out who G.A. really is?” she demanded to know.

Marinette raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Not at all. I haven’t thought about it.” She was sitting in at Alya's desk with her history notes already spread out on the surface, and she was pulling her book out now too.

“Are you kidding?” Alya exclaimed. She stared at Marinette hard with one eyebrow raised. “Don’t you want to know who it is and why he’s doing all this? If it were me, I would’ve wanted to know who he was as soon as I got the first design, but _now_ …” Alya shook her head in disbelief.

Marinette shrugged.

“I’m way too busy to care as long as I’m not the one getting in trouble for it.” She looked back down at her history book and began thumbing through it, looking for the correct page as she continued. “It’s probably just someone from the club who has it in for Chloé. That doesn’t take much of a stretch of the imagination.”

“That doesn’t explain why you were the only one getting designs for a while,” Alya countered. “What about the rest of the club? Hasn’t _anyone_ been trying to figure out who this is?”

“I imagine everyone else is busy too.” Marinette swiveled in the chair and nudged Alya’s backpack with her toe. “Come on. I’m tired and this book isn’t going to study itself.”

Alya continued to ignore her backpack. She sat up on her bed and crossed her legs underneath her. She leaned toward Marinette, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “You are talking about one of the most intriguing cases of hidden identity in all of Paris since Ladybug and Chat Noir retired. If no one else is going to investigate G.A.’s identity, _I’m_ going to.”

“Fine. I wish you the best of luck. I will happily subscribe when you create a G.A. Blog. But, for now, can we _please_ get on with studying?”


	5. Chapter 5

Alya started her investigation the very next day. She would’ve started sooner, but Marinette had flatly refused to discuss the subject any further that evening.

But the next day during lunch, Alya grilled Marinette for _all_ the information she had, which Marinette insisted wasn’t anything beyond what Alya already knew.

“Okay, so someone who has access to the school, who knows something about fashion design, and who would have a reason to use the initials G.A.?” Alya asked.

“That about sums it up,” Marinette replied.

“What about the fact that G.A. was giving you the designs long before anyone else got them?”

Marinette shrugged. “I guess. I’m not sure it’d help you develop any new leads. Everyone I know at school who is into fashion design is part of the design club, and there’s no one there with the initials G.A.”

Alya tapped her pen on the table thoughtfully. “Can you give me a list of the club members’ names? Maybe I’ll find a connection to G.A. somewhere.”

Over the course of the week, Alya gave Marinette frequent unsolicited updates regarding her investigation. She had checked to see if each club member’s commonly used name matched up with their legal name. She had searched online to see if she could find any of them using a pseudonym or screen name that might match. She had straight up asked a couple of students some rather nosy questions.

She didn’t come up with any particularly interesting angles.

She was undeterred.

When Marinette asked if she was going to give up, she was adamant in her reply. “No way! I’ll just have to look at the clues a different way. Or maybe I’ll look for physical evidence.”

“I don’t know, Alya. Everyone knows you’re my friend, and some of the other club members are starting to give me funny looks already. I can’t imagine what will happen if you start dusting their lockers for fingerprints.”

But truthfully, for the most part, Marinette didn’t mind what Alya was doing. Her investigative work made good background noise when she was up in her room working on the alterations for Adrien’s outfit. Working steadily, often with Alya’s company to keep up her spirits, she finished all but the hemming on Tuesday evening, with over a day to spare before the next fitting.

* * *

**MARCH 1**

“Students, I’m passing around a sheet of paper now,” Ms. Fontaine said. She held it up for them to see. It was blank except for a line dividing it into two columns. “Please write your name in the left-hand column and the name of your model to the right.” She handed the sheet to Andrea, who was seated in the chair closest to her. “I will be submitting this list of names to the school office to have you excused from your afternoon classes on Monday.”

“The whole afternoon?” Andrea asked in surprise.

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Ms. Fontaine responded. “There was some sort of scheduling conflict with the theater and to make a long story short, we won’t have the runway built out until Monday morning. We will have our one and only rehearsal on Monday afternoon.”

Several students began talking at once, but Ms. Fontaine raised her hand.

“I know that’s not ideal. I’m sorry. We’ll do the best with what we have.

“The theater will be available to us when the lunch break begins, and we will try to start our rehearsal as soon after lunch as we can. You and your model may show up and get dressed, apply make-up, and make any other necessary preparations during lunch if you wish. If not, then you may attend the rehearsal in normal clothing and dress afterward.

“I’m afraid things will probably be a little hectic that afternoon. I’ve been told that our opening band will be bringing in their equipment during lunch. They’ll be setting up on the stage, off to the side of the runway, and they’ll be eager to get their equipment moved to center stage and run their sound checks immediately after we rehearse.

“Also, a few students from the drama department will be on hand during the show to run the lights and sound. They will also be there working on their own setup during lunch. There will be a lot of activity, but again, we’ll just make the best of it.”

Chloé clucked her tongue and Marinette cringed inwardly in preparation for a rant of some sort. But even though Chloé’s face was dark, she was blissfully quiet.

As Ms. Fontaine began talking of further logistics, Marinette felt a nudge on her arm and turned. Valerie passed her the paper with the names of the students and their models. She wrote her name on it, then Adrien’s, and then passed it to Eve.

She turned her attention back to Ms. Fontaine. But out of the corner of her eye, she couldn’t help but notice when Eve slid the paper over to Chloé.

Chloé was still tapping on her phone, looking furious, and she glared at Eve for the interruption before snatching the paper and picking up her pen.

She hesitated a minute, hovering her pen over the paper in an uncertain way before she began to write. Marinette noticed that, in the end, she only wrote one name down before she shoved the paper to the student beside her.

When the meeting was over, several people approached Ms. Fontaine with questions. Marinette stood and gathered the notes she had made during the meeting, then headed toward the door. She had stepped out and was a few paces down the hall when the door swung open again. It was Chloé.

“Marinette!” Chloé called.

 _What now?_ Marinette groaned inwardly. She turned.

“Yes, Chloé?”

“I’ve heard that Alya’s been snooping around, asking questions about the design club members.” Chloé was holding her hand to her face, her well-manicured fingers curled over her thumb, examining her nails. She was not making eye contact with Marinette at all.

She seemed to be waiting for a response.

Marinette chose her words carefully. “Well, asking questions anyway.”

“Tell her to leave me the hell alone, okay?”

“I’ll give her the message from you,” Marinette replied frostily. “But she’s my _friend_. She doesn’t follow my orders. And I wouldn’t expect her to follow yours either.”

Chloé clucked her tongue at the word “friend” and acted like she heard nothing that came after it.

“Speaking of your _friends_ , Marinette, what about Adrien? Is he your friend?” Chloé glanced up just briefly at Marinette as she moved her hand further from her face and splayed her fingers out to examine them from a different angle. “I saw you wrote his name down, so I guess he’s modeling for you.”

The words came out tauntingly, and Marinette shifted uncomfortably.

“Yeah, so?”

“Poor Adrien, reduced from being a top model for the most well-known designer in Paris to modeling at a school fashion show for _you_.” Chloé looked over her nails at Marinette again, and her smile was cruel. “It never would have happened two years ago, you know.”

Marinette crossed her arms, scowled, and took the bait. “That’s not true, Chloé. He would’ve agreed to model for me two years ago, too. _He_ knows how to be nice.” The words “unlike you” were implied at the end, not verbalized.

“Yeah, Adrien was always too nice for his own good. But that’s not what I meant. I was talking about you being able to say Adrien was your friend.” She glanced up at Marinette again for a second with a maddeningly knowing smirk. “Much less anything else.”

The words slammed hard against Marinette, more painful than Chloé could’ve imagined. Her arms stiffened and her hands balled into tight fists.

She knew better. She _knew_ better than to react. She willed herself to turn around and walk away.

White-hot fury kept her body from obeying.

“You’re just jealous, Chloé. I saw _you_ only wrote your name on the list. Let me guess: threatening Sabrina wasn’t enough to get her to do what you wanted this time, and you don’t have anyone else to ask?”

Chloé’s reaction was immediately defensive.

“Jealous? Oh please.” She rolled her eyes. “The reason I only wrote my name is that Daddy hired a professional model for _my_ design three months ago. So no, I’m not jealous that Adrien is modeling for you. You can keep your _washed-up_ has-been.”

Marinette hardly registered the look of surprise that crossed Chloé’s own face or that the girl clapped her hand over her mouth. She dropped her bag on the floor and covered half the distance between them in the time it took her to hiss Chloé’s name. She had one arm raised, though she didn’t remember making a conscious decision to raise it.

Marinette wasn’t sure how she looked, but she knew she _felt_ more menacing than she could remember ever feeling before, and that included every akuma fight she’d ever been in as Ladybug. Chloé’s eyes were wide and fearful, and she took two steps back.

The door swung open and Marinette heard a surprised yelp. Then a hand suddenly closed around her raised wrist, bringing Marinette to a halt that spun her around. She saw that Enzo was the one who had restrained her.

“Marinette,” he whispered urgently, “don’t! The fashion show is on Monday. Whatever Chloé has done, it’s not worth it.”

“Girls!”

Enzo still had the door open, and behind him, Marinette could see Ms. Fontaine’s angry face peering out toward them. She stepped around the group of students who were still waiting to speak to her and all of whom were now also staring out the door.

Enzo let go of Marinette’s wrist and backed into the room, opening the door wider. Ms. Fontaine paid no attention to him as she came to the doorway, her arms crossed in front of her.

“Get in here, girls.” Her voice was tired but the command was not to be ignored. Marinette sheepishly pointed to her backpack a few paces down the hall. Ms. Fontaine nodded irritably, and Marinette quickly retrieved it before going back and walking through the door.

She faced Ms. Fontaine as the door swung shut. Chloé was inside now too, looking uncharacteristically rattled by what had just happened. Ms. Fontaine’s arms were still crossed as she stepped in and let the door swing shut behind her.

Ms. Fontaine looked at Chloé, then at Marinette, then back at Chloé. She exhaled loudly.

“Girls, what is going on here?”

“Nothing,” Chloé and Marinette said in unison.

“I didn’t see a physical fight, but I can still have you expelled from the club, you know. Keep your mouth shut, Miss Bourgeois.” For once, Chloé’s jaw snapped shut.

“Yes, Ms. Fontaine,” Marinette said.

Chloé’s mouth was still tightly shut, but she nodded her understanding.

Chloé’s silence, perhaps more than anything else, made the fury drain out of Ms. Fontaine’s face. She gave the girls a long look.

“Go home, Miss Dupain-Cheng. Miss Bourgeois, you stay here and help me clean up the room before you leave.”

Chloé’s started to speak, but Ms. Fontaine’s eyes snapped toward her. Chloé’s eyes widened and she clamped her jaw shut again.

Marinette opened the door and stomped out, anxious to be anywhere but inside that classroom, near Chloé.

She headed toward the bakery stiffly, her eyes firmly fixed on the sidewalk in front of her, oblivious to everything else around her. She was trembling, and she still felt hot all over.

When she got to her home, she entered through the front door into the bakery, rather than the private family entrance on the side. She knew her parents may not appreciate her presence in the customer area in her current state, but she was only going to be there long enough to snag a macaron.

There were no customers inside. Her dad was washing his hands at the sink, with his back to the door. He called out a greeting over his shoulder, the way he would if it were a customer coming in.

Marinette went behind the counter and slid open the door to the display case as quietly as she could. She knew she wasn’t supposed to be handling the food with her bare, unwashed hands, and she would not be able to handle a scolding right now.

She stole a quick glance in her father’s direction, just in time to see him turn her way.

There was no scolding. Just a concerned, “Marinette, are you all right?”

“Fine,” she lied as she slid the display case shut again, macaron in hand. She pushed through the door into the family’s private living area. Now that she had the cookie, she wasn’t even sure she could stand to eat it. Maybe she’d give it to Tikki when they got upstairs.

She hurried toward the staircase to her room. Her foot was on the first stair when she heard her mother’s voice.

“Marinette, honey?”

Marinette turned her head toward the kitchen and saw her mother’s concerned face. Marinette shook her head wordlessly. She started to climb the stairs again, when she saw her mother nod ever so slightly toward the living room.

Marinette glanced over in that direction and saw Adrien sitting on the sofa, a glass of water in his hands and a wide-eyed expression on his face.

 _Crud_. In the past twenty minutes, she had totally forgotten that he was coming over to try on his outfit.

She took a deep breath. “Hi, Adrien!” she said as brightly as she could manage, trying to pretend she hadn’t been scowling just a moment before. There was _no_ way she could explain her bad mood to him of all people.

He stood, gaping, then suddenly looked down at his water glass and would not meet her eye.

“Marinette?” This was her mother again, who was approaching now, still looking worried. She put a comforting hand on Marinette’s back. “Marinette, are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine! Mom, Adrien’s here to try on the outfit I’ve been working on. The one for the school fashion show.” Marinette looked at her mother and hoped she would understand the silent plea in her eyes for normalcy.

Thankfully, her mother understood, and she smoothed her face quickly into a pleasant smile. “Yes, that’s what he was just telling me.” She glanced at the uneaten macaron in Marinette’s hand. “Excuse me one moment.”

She turned toward the kitchen. There was a clink of plates and the sound of opening containers. Her mother raised her voice to be heard over the noise.

“Marinette has been working very hard on the outfit, Adrien. I know she’s very excited about the fashion show.”

A pause, then her mother returned to the living room holding a plate topped with several more macarons. These wouldn’t be quite as fresh as the ones from the bakery downstairs, but Marinette took them gratefully and held the plate out to Adrien. He took one and ate a bite.

“Thank you, Mrs. Cheng,” he said politely after he had swallowed.

“You’re quite welcome, Adrien.” She smiled fondly at him. Then she gave a small chuckle. “I won’t keep you kids any longer. Go on.”

“Thank you, Mom,” Marinette said, trying to smile in a way that would show her mother the depth of her gratitude. Her mother nodded.

Marinette led Adrien up the stairs. As they entered her room, he spoke a little hesitantly.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Marinette?”

“I’m fine,” she said a little more loudly than necessary. She tried to pretend it was true. Now it was her turn to refuse to look at him.

The awkward silence was deafening. She felt compelled to speak again.

“It’s nothing. Just Chloé being Chloé.” She changed the subject quickly. “I’ve got your outfit here.” She opened her closet where she kept the clothes neatly on a hanger and handed it over.

He left for the restroom to go change. Marinette sank into her chair, leaned her elbows against the desk top, and scrubbed at her eyes with both hands.

 _The outfit had better fit_ , she thought. It was not Adrien’s fault she felt this way, but she barely wanted to see him right now any more than she wanted to see Chloé.

Thankfully, everything seemed fine with the outfit, aside from the hems which were to be expected. She went to work pinning those. Adrien mentioned something about not being stabbed this time. Marinette barely heard it, but it sounded like an attempt to lighten the mood, so she did her best to force out a chuckle.

When she was finished, Adrien stepped over to the mirror. He seemed genuinely impressed.

“This looks great, Marinette. You did a really good job with it.” His voice was sincere.

Marinette gave him a sidelong look and managed a soft, “Thank you.”

Adrien glanced over at her briefly, then looked back in the mirror. He turned a little, this way and that, checking different angles, when he stopped and frowned.

“What about the ring?” he asked suddenly.

“Huh?” In the mirror, Marinette’s eyes met his.

“The ring.” He held up his hand to the mirror to indicate the Cat Miraculous and Marinette felt her skin prickle uncomfortably. She hadn’t expected _this_. “Sometimes stylists don’t want me to wear it with certain outfits. Do you have a preference?”

Marinette floundered for words, utterly dumbfounded. “I— I just— I don’t— What do you want?” she finally blurted out.

He looked a little surprised by the question, but after a moment, he shrugged. “I guess it blends in okay. And I’d rather wear it than not if it were up to me.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Fine.” Marinette cleared her throat. “I’ll sew up those hems this weekend.” She looked away and wished she had something to do to help her look busy. She grabbed her pincushion and took out a pin. She gave the pincushion a quarter turn in her hand, then pushed the pin back in.

Adrien seemed to feel as uncomfortable as she did. She felt bad about that, but she had to admit she felt a little relieved when he excused himself to the restroom to change.

When she heard his footsteps as he came back up the stairs, she walked down to meet him halfway.

He handed the clothes up to her, and she took them from him, folding them a little carelessly over her arm.

“If you want, I could come over on Sunday,” Adrien said. “Try it on one more time and make sure everything is still okay?”

Marinette actually didn’t care if he tried it on one more time or not – it wasn’t like she would make any changes at that point anyway – but she quickly weighed her options to decide which one would be most likely to get this meeting wrapped up sooner.

“Sure, Sunday at seven?”

Adrien faltered. “Could it be any earlier? I…” He trailed off.

Marinette was thinking fast. She and Luka had movie plans Sunday afternoon, and sure, the movie would be over in plenty of time, but they usually took a leisurely pace back to her house, often stopping at a café at least…

Fortunately, she didn’t have to commit to ending the date early. Adrien appeared to swallow hard and then spoke again.

“Never mind. Seven is fine.”

Marinette nodded.

Adrien didn’t turn to go down the stairs immediately. He held her gaze for just a second, and Marinette felt a small wave of shame wash over her.

“I’ll see myself out,” Adrien said suddenly.

“No. No, I’m sorry. Let me go put these down.”

She ran up the stairs and tossed the clothes over the back of her chair. She spied the forgotten plate of macarons on the table and grabbed it.

When she returned to the stairs, Adrien was – thankfully – still there.

She held out the plate to him.

“Macaron?” she said in a small, hopeful voice.

Adrien eyed the plate, then took one.

“Tell your dad these are good,” he said, nibbling at the edge.

Marinette felt the tension ease just a little.

“Actually, Mom made these,” she corrected him as they made their way down the stairs and toward the front door.

* * *

When Marinette climbed the stairs back to her room, she found Tikki waiting for her.

“Marinette…” Tikki began.

“Can I just say I’m fine and we move on?” Marinette mumbled. She flopped onto her bed, grabbed her pillow, and covered her face.

“Marinette, we need to talk,” Tikki said gently.

Marinette rolled over on the bed, turning her face away from her kwami. She brought the pillow down and clutched it tightly to her chest.

She hadn’t expected the tears that were now welling in her eyes, but there was Chloé with her _stupid_ insults and her _stupid_ smile and Adrien with his _stupid_ Miraculous, and she had gotten over all of this _months_ ago so why was she acting so _stupid_ about it now?

She clutched the pillow tighter and curled up around it. The tears in her eyes spilled over, tracking across the bridge of her nose and sliding down the side of her face until they dripped onto the mattress below, leaving a damp spot that quickly spread.

There was no sobbing or wailing. It was a quiet, subdued cry, punctuated only by shuddery breaths and the occasional loud sniff.

It wasn’t the first time that Marinette wished she had never agreed to reveal her identity to Chat Noir. She hadn’t realized she had presumed so far on his affection for Ladybug until she found out it would go cold in an instant when he found out who she was behind the mask.

The fact that Chat Noir was Adrien only made it worse. It made her realize that during all her awkward fumbling back when she had had a crush on him, she had never really stood a chance. It wasn’t that he didn’t _notice_ Marinette. It wasn’t even that he thought he and Marinette were _incompatible._ It was that Marinette wasn’t _enough_. Ladybug was, but Marinette wasn’t.

Tikki said nothing to Marinette as she cried. Marinette could feel her movements sometimes. Tikki seemed to not know what to do, first settling on Marinette’s shoulder, then moving to the pillow that Marinette was clutching, giving her tiny pats on the hand.

When the tears started to slow down, she felt Tikki move again and Marinette did not know where she went. She realized, though, that she was uncomfortable with the wet spot pressed against her cheek and she rolled – taking the pillow with her – until she was facing the other direction on her bed, toward her desk.

After a few seconds, she felt the mattress shift as Tikki landed right in front of her face. Marinette felt a tissue being gently though awkwardly dabbed against her cheek under one eye. Marinette cracked her eyelid open. Through her eyelashes and the remaining tears, she saw Tikki struggling to wield a tissue that was almost as big as she was.

Feeling comforted, Marinette closed her eye again and hugged the pillow tighter. Her eyes felt scratchy and raw.

She heard the sounds of the tissue rustling against the trash bag as Tikki discarded it, and heard another tissue being taken from the box. She held out a hand, eyes still closed, and Tikki pressed it into her palm.

Marinette wiped her nose and turned her face to wipe her cheeks.

“Marinette.” Tikki’s voice was gentle but firm. Marinette cracked an eye open again. Tikki was resting on Marinette’s desk, peering at Marinette with an earnest face. “Marinette, you have to talk to Adrien. You have to talk to him about who you both are.”

Marinette closed her eye again. Her thoughts were only partially formed and they were going in circles.

Adrien, who clearly didn’t want to talk about their alter egos.

Adrien, who had once been a close friend, though she only realized it too late.

Adrien, whom she had once trusted with her life and whom she had learned to admire for his bravery, his dependability, his compassion.

Adrien, who was probably still trustworthy, brave, dependable, and compassionate but was still missing something – a spark – that had defined him as Chat Noir.

She wished that they were close enough that she could talk to him about that.

But they weren’t, and she couldn’t.

Because he clearly didn’t want to talk about their alter egos.

She couldn’t get close to him if they couldn’t even talk to each other about the main thing that their relationship was founded on.

And if she were honest, it wasn’t like she was all that eager to talk about it herself. The only reason she could think of that he didn’t want to talk to _her_ about it was because he didn’t want to address the fact that she was Ladybug.

And there it was again, that lurch in her stomach as she experienced the sting of rejection all over again.

After a few moments of silence, Marinette wondered if Tikki had expected a response. She didn’t give one. Her neck hurt from tilting her head down so that she could rest it on the bare mattress. She lifted her head and moved her pillow underneath it. She settled back down and felt much better.

“If you talk, Marinette, you can clear the air. It may hurt for a little while, but afterward, maybe you can start over again with a real friendship.”

Marinette tried to think about this, but her eyes ached and her neck no longer did and she still couldn’t quite get her thoughts to organize themselves into logical sentences.

She felt Tikki’s weight on the pillow beside her. “Think about it,” she heard Tikki say.

Then she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Adrien spent the early evening in his bedroom at the mansion. He wasn’t happy about it. He preferred to spend this time of day in the secret room at the school, but the extra appointment at Marinette’s that afternoon had thrown his schedule off again.

So instead, he was attempting to finish his homework here, where the light was better and his books were more readily available.

Plagg was not at all subtle about the fact that he preferred being in the mansion over being at the school.

“Aah, luxury,” he gushed as he stretched his tiny body out on the couch.

Adrien swatted at his ear irritably as though he were trying to shoo away a fly, but otherwise, he didn’t respond. He returned to scrawling a math problem onto the paper in front of him, pausing to look back at the book to double check what he had written.

“You should go see Marinette more often,” Plagg said lazily.

“I thought you didn’t approve,” Adrien replied vaguely. “I thought that’s what you meant when you kept reminding me she was dating someone.” He didn’t look up as he flipped back through the pages of the book, looking for the example problem he thought might help him with the homework.

“I didn’t mean you shouldn’t hang out with her as _friends_. I approve of _that_ , especially when it interrupts your regularly scheduled brooding.”

Adrien tried to pretend he hadn’t heard Plagg. He flipped back a couple of more pages. He was at the beginning of the chapter and he hadn’t found that example. Frustrated, he flipped the pages forward again. He could feel the familiar knot starting to twist in his stomach.

He paused on one of the pages. Maybe…? No, that wasn’t it. He flipped the page again.

Then he slammed the book shut. The assignment was only a little more than halfway done, but that was the way it was going to stay.

He looked out the windows. The sun had almost set, but then there would be twilight for at least another thirty minutes or so. It would be at least that long before it would be dark enough to risk going out as Chat Noir.

He twisted his ring around his finger a few times, then stood up abruptly and started to pace. He wished now that he had gone to the school after all.

Adrien noticed that Plagg had floated off the couch and was now hovering near the path that Adrien was pacing along the floor.

Then he became aware that Plagg was also talking. Before he could catch any of the words, the kwami stopped and looked at him expectantly, as though waiting for a response.

“Huh?” Adrien said, pausing his footsteps.

“I said, maybe we should skip going out tonight. I’m tired. You’re tired. What do you think?”

Adrien just stared at Plagg.

“Adrien, please. Just for one night.” The words coming from Plagg sounded strange to Adrien’s ears because there was no whining in the tone. Just a sincere plea.

Adrien looked away and resumed pacing. Plagg darted directly into his path where he couldn’t be ignored.

“What do you think Chloé did that had Marinette all riled up this afternoon?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like I can do anything about it,” Adrien muttered darkly.

“Do you think it was about the fashion show lineup? It probably wasn’t. You said Marinette didn’t care about that.”

Adrien knew Plagg did not actually care about Chloé or Marinette or whatever drama was going on between the two girls. He was only trying to distract Adrien. Plagg hated when Adrien got like this, especially this early in the evening.

What surprised Adrien, though, somewhere at the edge of his consciousness, was that Plagg’s attempt to redirect Adrien’s attention had been effective. His line of thought changed, if not his emotions.

Marinette’s anger _was_ unusual. He’d seen her get angry before, but she usually took action against whatever had caused it. She didn’t carry it around with her in quite the way he had just seen.

When he asked her if she was okay, she had said it was something to do with Chloé. Maybe Marinette had wanted to talk about it more. Should he have asked her to elaborate?

He sat down at his desk again. Plagg hovered nearby, and Adrien barely noticed when he flitted back off to the couch a moment later, apparently satisfied that he had managed to refocus Adrien’s attention.

Plagg was right. Marinette was probably not upset about the fashion show lineup. She hadn’t even been upset about it a month ago.

But Chloé was still causing problems, and she still didn’t deserve to be getting her way. His previous note hadn’t really had the impact he was hoping for. Maybe a more direct approach would work. He wondered how far he could go before he crossed the line and got into some real trouble.

He thought for a few more minutes, then began to write. He’d deliver these notes tonight. He was in no mood to back out in the morning.

* * *

Marinette was jolted awake by an unexpected sound.

She was disoriented at first. It was dark in her room and quiet in the house. She pushed herself up to a sitting position. She wasn’t under her bedsheets. She had a blanket on her, but she didn’t know how it had gotten there.

As she swung her legs over the side of the bed, she realized she had street clothes on, not pajamas.  That’s when the memories of the afternoon began to return.

Her stomach rumbled then, and she remembered that she hadn’t eaten dinner. She wondered what time it was now. And what was the sound that had woken her up?

She stood up and fumbled on her desk for the switch on her lamp. She found it and turned it on, squinting against the light.

There was a plate on her desk next to the lamp. On it were a piece of bread and some orange slices. She remembered her parents’ concerned expressions and imagined them coming up with a plate of food and a blanket to cover her when they found her asleep.

She picked up an orange slice and nibbled on it.

She wondered where Tikki was. The kwami had lain down next to her as she was falling asleep. She turned back toward her bed, and now that she was looking for it, she saw a suspicious lump burrowed under the comforter. She pulled it up and saw Tikki, still asleep despite the disturbance.

With a smile, Marinette picked the little kwami up and deposited her on the bed of scrap fabric that Marinette kept for her inside a drawer.

Marinette found her purse slung over the back of her desk chair. She opened it and pulled out her phone to check the time. It was 11:47.

She had a text message, and that’s when she realized that her phone’s chime had been the sound that woke her up. She looked at it, blinked her eyes blearily, and then held it closer to her face to look again.

It was from Chloé.

“Don’t tell Adrien what I said today,” it said.

Marinette frowned. She, of course, had no intention of telling Adrien what Chloé had said. But she also had no intention of reassuring Chloé with that information.

She put her phone back on her desk and picked up another slice of orange. Just before she took a bite, her phone chimed with another text message.

“I only said it because I wanted you to be mad.”

If Chloé was trying to win Marinette over, it was a poor strategy.

She put the phone on her desk, put the rest of the orange back on the plate, and switched off the lamp. She was still hungry, but her sleepiness had her hunger beat.

She had almost drifted off again when the phone chimed a third time.

It was Chloé again. “You can’t do this to me. It’s not fair.”

* * *

**MARCH 2**

When Marinette woke up the next morning, she was in good spirits again. The anguish of the previous afternoon had, for the most part, disappeared after a long night’s sleep, which hadn’t been interrupted any further after Chloé’s last message.

She changed out of yesterday’s clothes and into fresh ones.

She saw her backpack leaning against her desk. She felt a twinge of guilt. There were a few homework assignments in there that she hadn’t done. But she was doing pretty well in her classes overall. She figured she could afford to miss a couple of due dates.

Tikki came out from the drawer where she slept as Marinette turned on the water in the sink to wash her face.

“Are you feeling better this morning, Marinette?” Tikki asked as Marinette dried her face with a towel.

“I feel great, Tikki,” Marinette said brightly.

Tikki’s expression was anxious. “Have you thought about what I said yesterday?”

“Yes. And you’re right. I’m going to have to talk with Adrien.”

Tikki’s face lit up.

“Maybe.”

Tikki’s face fell.

“It wouldn’t be until after the fashion show, at least. It’s just a few days away.”

Tikki flew closer to Marinette. “Marinette—”

“Or maybe not until after the school year is over. I mean, we still have to work together on our biology labs until then.”

“Marinette—”

Marinette turned and faced Tikki soberly. “Tikki, please. I told you I think you’re right, but it’s going to take some time to figure out how to bring it up without ruining everything.”

Tikki looked at Marinette for a long moment, then planted a motherly kiss on her forehead without further comment.

Marinette smiled gratefully, then picked up the plate of food she had barely touched and went down the stairs.

Her mother’s expression was anxious when she looked up from her breakfast plate, but when she saw Marinette’s face, bright and cheerful, she smiled back.

“Good morning, dear,” her mother greeted her affectionately as she set the plate next to the sink. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did,” she said. “Thank you for the blanket. And the food. I did eat a little of it.”

“You’re welcome.” She indicated a plate sitting across the table. “I brought you a fresh croissant from downstairs.”

Marinette walked over to the table and brushed a kiss on her mother’s cheek. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Her mother hesitated a moment as Marinette sat and started to spread butter and honey on the pastry. “Did you want to talk about what happened yesterday?”

Marinette took a bite from the croissant and shook her head. “It’s nothing, Mom. It’s just Chloé. You know.”

Her mother sighed sympathetically. “You seem to be having fewer problems with her this year.”

Marinette nodded and swallowed a second bite of the croissant. “Yeah, probably because I don’t have to see her as much this year as I used to.” After a moment, she added, “I shouldn’t have let her get to me yesterday.”

Her mother smiled. “We all let our emotions get the better of us sometimes.”

* * *

Marinette’s day at school was rather uneventful. She saw neither Chloé nor Adrien before class except in passing. She acted as she normally might, ignoring Chloé and waving a greeting at Adrien.

She saw Chloé again when she was at her locker retrieving a textbook toward the end of the lunch period. Chloé was walking toward her, but she didn’t seem to notice Marinette at first. She wasn’t alone. Enzo was with her, and they appeared to be talking in low voices.

Marinette paused and watched them, puzzled. Enzo and Chloé were both in the design club, but Marinette had never seen them interact with one another outside of meetings.

Just as Chloé and Enzo were about to pass her, Chloé looked up and noticed Marinette, then glared at her. She started to open her mouth, but Marinette saw Enzo tug on her arm. Chloé turned to scowl at him next, but Marinette saw him shake his head at her.

Chloé gave an audible growl, but she didn’t say anything else as they walked past.

Marinette turned as they past, watching them stop outside the door to one of the classrooms. They talked for a moment longer, then Chloé turned on her heel and marched into the room. Enzo watched her go, then started down the hall in the same direction he and Chloé had been walking a moment earlier.

He looked over his shoulder once, and Marinette caught his eye. He hastily turned back and picked up his pace.

Marinette shook her head, grabbed her books, and left for her own class.

* * *

**MARCH 4**

Marinette spent Sunday afternoon at the movies with Luka, just as they had planned.

She had finished all the work on Adrien’s outfit the night before and it was hanging in her closet, waiting for him to try on later that evening.

After their movie was over, Marinette and Luka began their walk back in the direction of the bakery. It was too cold to enjoy a leisurely pace. The clouds were gloomy and gray overhead; the light was quickly fading away as the sun sank close to the horizon. There had been a threat of snow all day, but so far, it was still dry. Just cold.

The movie they had just seen was about as dismal as the weather, and they didn’t have much to say to one another about it.

 _In fact_ , Marinette thought, _Luka hasn’t had much to say about anything this afternoon._

“We’re going to Hugo’s, right?” she asked. They were passing the café by, and Luka has not even so much as looked up.

Luka shrugged nonchalantly, and the two of them looked for cars before crossing over. The streets were mostly empty. Many shops were closed for the evening already, and the others appeared to be rather empty of customers. It wasn’t surprising considering the weather.

Hugo’s was a small café not far from the bakery. On weekdays, it enjoyed decent patronage by students from two nearby lycées, including Lycée Leroux. The coffee was nothing particularly special, but it was inexpensive. The pastries weren’t nearly as good as those at the Dupain-Cheng bakery, but they, too, were inexpensive.

Like the other nearby shops, the café was nearly deserted. Hugo gave them a friendly nod and took their orders. A few minutes later, Marinette and Luka were sitting at a table near a window with warm mugs.

Marinette sipped earnestly and tried a few different topics – school, the band, the upcoming concert and fashion show – hoping to draw Luka out.

But everything came to a dead end, and after a few minutes, she noticed he wasn’t even drinking the coffee. He was slowly spinning the cup around on the surface of the table, watching the liquid inside slosh against the sides with each movement.

Marinette was disconcerted. She wasn’t used to Luka behaving like this. He wasn’t always what she would call talkative, but she usually felt like he was _there_ when they were together. Right now, he seemed very far away.

“Luka, is something wrong?” she finally asked.

“No, not wrong.”

“Then what are you thinking about?” She tried hard to keep the exasperation out of her voice. She hated that she was even asking him this question.

“I’m just surprised that they’re going through with the fashion show,” he said abruptly.

Marinette looked up at him in surprise. “Why wouldn’t they?”

“Ms. Fontaine knows what’s going on with G.A. Am I the only one who finds the whole thing a little creepy?”

 “It’s nothing, Luka. Just a stupid prank.”

“But G.A. is targeting you, Marinette. First with the designs that were just for _you_. Then with some sort of manipulative scheme to mess with the lineup for the show to benefit _you_. Yes, I know the lineup doesn’t matter,” he added quickly, off her look. “But clearly G.A. thinks it does. And it’s like he thinks he’s some kind of white knight to you or something. It’s creepy.”

Marinette looked down at her nearly-empty mug. “I’m not in any danger,” she said quietly. She worried that her voice was coming across more sullen than confident. Luka just looked at her and didn’t respond.

Marinette finished her coffee with no further discussion, and Luka commented that he didn’t want his anymore. They left and continued their walk to the bakery.

The sun had just set, and the sky was rapidly darkening, the gloomy gray giving way to the darkness of night. The few shops that had been open before they went into Hugo’s were now beginning to close.

Several times, Marinette cut her eyes over toward Luka as they walked hand-in-hand. He had that far-away look in them again.

 _So he’s worried about me_ , she thought. She had to admit that she thought it was sweet, if misguided. She let go of his hand and slipped her arm through his. He glanced at her then with an expression that made her heart skip.

She sighed a small sigh.

She had thought about doing this before, although not without some fear.

But she trusted him, didn’t she? He was _so_ worried, and it was _so_ needless.

He had dated her for over a year. Wasn’t that a long time? It seemed like a pretty long time.

They were about a block away from the bakery when Marinette bravely tugged Luka’s arm, pulling him away from the street. Luka looked at her in surprise, but he followed her lead. She stopped between two buildings.

She looked around again while Luka looked at her in confusion. The street was still deserted. It was safe.

She turned toward Luka.

“Luka, I know you’re worried. But, I’m not. I really can take care of myself,” she said earnestly.

Luka smiled and ran his fingers through the ends of one of her pigtails. “People can be crazy, Marinette. I’m not trying to discourage you, but we don’t even know who this guy is and we can only guess at his motives. I think the school should be more cautious, and maybe you should too.”

Marinette took both of his hands in both of hers. “Luka, you don’t understand. I _can_ defend myself. I’m… I…” She couldn’t quite make herself say the words, but she didn’t have to. She’d just show him. “Tikki, spots on.”

Instantly, she was Ladybug. It had been months since she had been suited up like this, and she was surprised by how much she had missed it.

Luka’s jaw dropped and he let go of her hands. Marinette wanted to laugh at his slack-jawed expression, but she held her chin steady.

“See?” she said triumphantly.

“Marinette?” Luka finally gasped out. “You’re Ladybug?”

Marinette smiled and nodded, feeling a little giddy. He was in awe.

Luka stared for a long time, taking in every detail of her in her transformed state. The mask across the top half of her face, red with black dots. The earrings, usually black, but now red with five black dots. The red bodysuit with black dots, patterned similarly to her mask. The yo-yo at her hip.

Marinette stood steady and waited.

Luka reached his hand up toward her, then stopped, hesitating. Marinette stayed still, unblinking and unflinching. He moved again, slowly, then ran his fingers through the end of her pigtail as he had just done moments before.

“ _You’re_ Ladybug.” The tone of his voice was one of wonder, and his words were more of a statement than a question this time.

Marinette giggled. “It’s not that hard to believe, is it?”

Luka’s eyes snapped from the pigtail he was stroking to her eyes, and then his mouth twisted into a mischievous smirk.

“Kind of,” he said in a low, husky whisper. “You’re such a klutz normally.”

“Hey!” Marinette protested, hitting his arm playfully. “That’s not nice.”

He laughed and caught the hand she had used to hit him. He didn’t let go.

“It’s true though,” he said with a wink.

Marinette changed the subject.

“So do you understand now why I’ve told you I’m not afraid of G.A.?”

Luka gave a start as though he had completely forgotten the discussion they’d just been having. Then he chuckled softly.

“All right, all right. I give up,” he conceded.

He looked at Marinette expectantly, and she suddenly realized that he was still holding her hand. She felt the heat rising in her cheeks.

She cleared her throat.

“Yeah… so…” She was at a loss for words. She cast around, looking for something to say. “I guess I should transform back now.”

“Wait,” Luka said. He still had her hand.

She waited.

“I can’t not… I mean… I wonder if kissing Ladybug is the same as kissing Marinette.” There was a playful glint in his eye. “May I?”

She smirked and tugged him closer using the hand that was still clasped in his. “I thought you’d never ask,” she teased.

* * *

Adrien usually waited until it was a little darker before roaming Paris as Chat Noir. But it was a cold and gloomy day, and the sun had officially set. The streets were emptier than usual, so the risk of being seen was smaller. If he stayed in the shadows, he should be safe.

Besides, Chat Noir could get around much faster than Adrien, and Adrien was running late.

He was getting close to Marinette’s home now. He’d have to find a place to detransform soon. He approached an alley between two buildings. He leapt across it, glancing down to see if it looked empty.

Something caught his eye. Just a flash of an unexpected color in an even less expected place. His heart started thudding in his chest. It had reacted even before his brain could comprehend what it was reacting to.

Adrien felt so instantly shaky that he wondered briefly if he would even keep his balance as he landed. He was irritated at his own body for betraying him when he didn’t know why.

Fortunately, he managed an impressively quiet landing, considering the circumstances. He whirled around instantly and flattened his body down on the rooftop. He inched forward until his eyes were just barely peeking down into the alley below.

He saw her, first, of course.

His mouth went dry, and for a second, he felt as breathless as if he’d been kicked in the gut. Because there she was. After almost a year of searching and wondering and missing her, in the alley right below him, was his Lady. Ladybug.

He opened his mouth and started to call to her.

The word stuck in his throat. Nearly choked him.

She wasn’t alone. She had a boy’s hand in her own – or was her hand in his? Or did it even matter? She pulled on the boy’s hand and he stepped nearer to her. Her lips were moving, but the blood was rushing in Adrien’s head so loudly that it drowned out all hope of hearing what they were saying.

The boy put his arms around Ladybug, and then they were kissing.

Every other thought – the fashion show, Marinette, where he was going – left his head. He was drowning in the realization that the thing he had never allowed himself to believe was really the truth.

Ladybug wasn’t dead. She wasn’t in a coma. She hadn’t been kidnapped or held against her will. She had probably even been in Paris the whole time.

She hadn’t been taken away from him. She really had abandoned him. Just like his mother and father and even Nino. _They_ may not have had a choice in their circumstances, but _she_ had.

He wouldn’t have believed any of it if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes.

Adrien scrambled across rooftops now, scratching at them recklessly and rolling with his landings as he went. He didn’t care how much noise he made. He only cared about getting away as fast as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: 10/28
> 
> So, you're here. It's been close to two months since the last chapter posted, and I wanted to reassure you that I am still working on it regularly! I apologize for the slow progress. I look forward to posting again when I have something to share. Thanks!


	6. Chapter 6

Marinette leaned back in her chair, clasped her hands together, and stretched her arms above her head as she yawned. She really hadn’t been working on her homework for very long, but somehow literary analysis had a way of making her keenly aware of just how uncomfortable it could be to sit at her desk for more than a few minutes at a time.

She pulled her phone toward her and frowned down at it when the screen came on. The time was 7:32, and she wondered again why Adrien hadn’t shown up for the fitting.

Was she misremembering the time they had agreed on? She _thought_ she had said seven o’clock, but then again, she had been pretty emotional at the time. She hadn’t exactly written it down on her calendar before having that little breakdown.

Marinette told herself that there was probably a perfectly reasonable explanation for Adrien’s absence. Maybe he had fallen asleep early. That would explain why he hadn’t even bothered to call or text. Or maybe there was some schedule conflict. Hadn’t he started to ask if they could choose a different time when she suggested seven o’clock? And maybe it was the kind of thing where he couldn’t just step away to let her know he was running late.

It wasn’t so much that she cared whether or not the fitting took place. It was unnecessary after the one on Thursday. But it wasn’t like Adrien to miss one of their meetings.

As the clock ticked ahead to 7:33, Marinette opened her contacts on her phone, found Adrien’s name, and pressed the call button.

It went straight to voicemail.

* * *

**MARCH 5**

Marinette woke up early the next morning. She ate breakfast with her mother, who wished her good luck.

“Your father arranged for someone to come late this afternoon to handle the bakery for a couple of hours, so we can both be there for your show,” her mother said with a smile. “Did you ever hear from Adrien last night?”

“No,” Marinette admitted. “Nothing this morning either. He probably just forgot.”

She kissed her mother good-bye and headed out the door, carefully holding Adrien’s outfit to avoid wrinkling it as she walked.

Marinette arrived at school a full ten minutes before the start of class. There was supposed to be a garment rack outside the dressing rooms on which to hang their outfits. Marinette’s experience with the school theater was limited mostly to attending drama and fine arts department performances, and she had not even been to many of those. She only knew vaguely where the dressing rooms were.

She entered the theater through the double doors that led from the school’s main entrance to the northwest wing of the building. She was now in a lobby that encompassed the entire width of the wing. Across from the entrance doors, there was a wall that nearly stretched the entire width of the wing, leaving a gap for a hallway on either wide. Behind the wall was the main auditorium, and there were a set of double doors on either end of the wall that would lead to the audience seating.

Marinette focused on the hallways that ran down either side of the auditorium. Marinette supposed one of those hallways would lead to the dressing rooms.

She tried the one on the right first, and she was in luck. There, some distance away near the end of the hall, she could see what looked like a garment rack. As she got closer, she saw that it was parked next to a door with a sign that, indeed, labeled it as the entrance to the dressing rooms. There were already several outfits hanging on it.

She hooked the hanger she had been carrying to the rod, then fussed with it rather unnecessarily for a moment to make sure that the clothes were hanging straight. There was a label tied to the neck of the hanger which had Adrien’s name written on it in her handwriting. She reached up and straightened it out so that it laid against the shoulder of the jacket, where it could be easily read.

She wished she could shake the feeling that something was wrong.

She took her phone out and checked it again. No messages. No missed calls. No point in calling him again.

* * *

Marinette was waiting anxiously near Adrien’s locker when Alya passed by on her way to their class.

“It’s almost time for school to start,” Alya said. “Don’t you want to be on time? You were on a roll for a while there.”

Marinette glanced longingly down the hallway, but then she reluctantly turned and fell into step beside Alya.

“So today’s the big day,” Alya said conversationally.

“Yeah,” Marinette said in a subdued voice. “But I haven’t seen Adrien yet.”

Alya shrugged. “The day’s only just begun. Maybe he’s running late.”

But by lunchtime, Adrien was still nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t like Marinette hadn’t looked. She’d spent her morning break times near his locker, hoping he’d show up. She had excused herself from class more than once to use the restroom and had then taken the long way around on her way back to peek through classroom windows, trying to catch sight of him.

“Did you find him yet?” Alya asked her when they caught up with one another in the hallway at lunch.

“No. And no message from him either. Where could he be?” she lamented.

“Maybe we should go check his house during lunch,” Alya suggested.

“It’s almost a twenty-minute walk one-way,” Marinette said. “I’d be gone forty-five minutes at a minimum, and I won’t have even eaten lunch yet. And if Adrien _isn’t_ going to be at the show today…”

Alya gave her a knowing look. “You’ll have to find a replacement model?”

“I’ll have to _be_ the replacement model. I won’t have time to find another substitute on such short notice.” She paused for a moment considering. “What about you? Are you going home for lunch?”

“I was going to eat with you. Aren’t you going to the cafeteria?”

“I am. But I was just wondering, would you…?”

“Go check Adrien’s house?”

“Would you?” Marinette asked again. “Just to see if he’s okay. It just isn’t like him to miss this without saying anything.”

“You got it,” Alya said. She clapped her hand against Marinette’s shoulder but left it there a beat longer than expected. She gave Marinette’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be okay.”

* * *

Marinette sat at a table filled with other students during lunch. She knew most of them and did her best to chat pleasantly with them, but she knew her distraction was showing when one of them quietly asked her if she was okay.

Although she knew she should try to eat well because it’d be hours before she had the chance to eat again, she couldn’t swallow more than a couple of bites. She was still at the table, pushing food around with her fork, when she got a message from Alya. She hid her phone under the table while she checked the message.

“I’m here. Gate’s locked as usual. I rang the bell. Whoever answered just said Adrien wasn’t available.”

“But he’s okay?”

While she waited for a reply, Marinette hastily excused herself from the table, grabbed a leftover cookie from her plate for Tikki, and left the cafeteria. She opened her jacket as she walked, into which she had sewn several inner pockets. Tikki was hidden inside one of those pockets, and Marinette assumed she was probably sleeping. Marinette stuck the cookie inside another one. She had just retreated to a quiet hallway when Alya sent another message.

“I guess. That’s all they said. I pushed the button again but there was no response. Also, there’s a strange car parked in front of the garage.”

Before Marinette could text back, Alya sent her an image. The car in the picture looked out of place next to the palatial building. It was neat and clean enough, but it looked very practical. Brown and boxy, not sleek and stylish, and definitely not expensive.

“Maybe it belongs to someone on the staff?” Marinette suggested. She didn’t even know how much staff was still working for the Agreste household.

“Maybe. I don’t think the staff would park out in front of the garage like that.”

“Hmm. Okay. Thanks for checking.”

“No problem. I guess I’ll be seeing you on the runway in a few hours.”

“Not if Adrien shows up.”

Alya didn’t respond.

* * *

Marinette headed for the northwest wing, though she wasn’t quite sure what she was going to do there. It had been one thing to tell Alya that she was going to model Adrien’s outfit herself, and another thing altogether to actually march back there and put it on.

She knew she’d probably wish later that she had given herself more time to make adjustments to the outfit. She did, after all, have black safety pins in her bag, so she could probably do something to make it fit her a little better. But she couldn’t bring herself to try the outfit on just yet. Putting it on would be like saying that Adrien had let her down or like admitting that she had given up on him. She decided to wait until the last possible moment, after the fashion show rehearsal.

She reached the lobby and turned down the hallway toward the dressing room, wondering if anyone else from the design club was there yet.

She had almost reached the dressing room door when another door at the end of the hall slammed open. Marinette saw Ivan stagger through it, blowing hard. In his arms was a large amplifier.

“Here, let me help,” Marinette called. She met him where he stood and grabbed the edges of the amplifier. She put one leg forward a bit, knee bent, and helped guide the amplifier down to rest partly on her braced thigh. She was supporting some of its weight now, allowing Ivan a chance to rest and catch his breath.

“Thanks, Marinette,” he panted. “I normally don’t have that much trouble carrying this thing. But getting it up those stairs was a pain.”

“Up the stairs? You mean you guys parked at the basement level?” Marinette asked in surprise.

Ivan nodded. “The freight door on this level is locked and we couldn’t find anyone to open it for us. The door at the basement level was open though. It’s still better than walking from the parking lot all the way to the main entrance.”

Juleka entered the hallway then, coming through the same door that Ivan had used a moment earlier. She had a guitar case slung across her back and carried a box of cords in her arms. She smiled and mumbled a hello to Marinette, who returned it before turning back to Ivan.

“Let me help you get this out to the stage. That’s where you’re going, right?”

He nodded, and the two of them together hefted the amplifier back up and walked it through the double doors across the hall from the dressing rooms, which led to the backstage area. They passed through the wings, maneuvering through the gap between the curtains to make their way onto the stage.

Once there, Marinette was immediately taken in by the activity and slightly chaotic atmosphere. There was a clang of metal against metal and shouted commands punctuated by laughter, which came from several students who were setting up folding chairs along the sides of the temporary runway that extended out into the auditorium.

In the middle of the stage, there were two girls wearing dark clothing and two-way radios clipped to their hips. They were involved in a loud discussion that seemed to be about some of the lights over the stage, which Marinette now noticed were lowered so that they hovered only two or three meters over her head. Marinette supposed the girls were some of the stagehands that Ms. Fontaine had mentioned. Marinette could see another similarly dressed student working in the wings on the opposite side of the stage.

And also on the stage, but off toward the side opposite of the one where she and Ivan and Juleka had entered, were Rose and Luka. They were working among a clustered assortment of cords, guitars, microphones, and various parts of Ivan’s drum kit. Rose was setting up a microphone stand, and Luka had a microphone in one hand and was uncoiling a connector cord with the other.

“Hi, Marinette!” Rose squealed, looking over as she twisted the knob on a microphone stand to lock it to its current height. Luka looked up and nodded at her with a small smile, but said nothing.

Marinette and Ivan maneuvered the amplifier over to an empty spot among the gear and set it down before Marinette returned their greetings.

“I heard that Adrien is modeling an outfit for you at the show today,” Rose bubbled.

Marinette smiled tightly. “Yeah, that was the plan.”

Luka shot her a questioning look at this, but Marinette just shrugged. Rose continued as if she didn’t catch the tension in Marinette’s voice.

“I can’t wait to see it! I haven’t seen Adrien in months!” She then turned to Ivan. “We’re missing a mic stand. I think I might’ve left it in the front of the van. Can you bring it in on the next trip?”

“Yeah, sure.” Ivan glanced back toward the wings, still breathing hard. He wiped his forehead, then looked back toward the wings. “I think we’ll have the rest in three more trips. Maybe two.”

“Do you want any more help?” Marinette asked.

“Yeah, you should let her carry the heavy stuff,” Luka interjected. “She’s a lot stronger than she looks.” He winked at Marinette, who blushed.

“Sure. Thankfully, that amplifier was the heaviest thing we’ve got to bring in,” Ivan answered, completely missing the significance of Luka’s remark.

And so the three of them – Ivan, Juleka, and Marinette – went back through the wings and out the door into the hallway. When they reached the basement, they turned and went through a door which led outdoors. The van had been backed in until it was very close to the door, and its cargo doors were open.

Ivan climbed into the back and picked up a bundle of shiny metal rods, which Marinette recognized as stands for his drum kit. He put them carefully on Marinette’s outstretched arms. She turned and started back to the door, even as Juleka stepped up to the back of the van to take a second bundle.

Marinette started down the hallway, toward the doors to the right. She did a double-take at the fact that they were now closed. When she heard Juleka calling her name, Marinette remembered she was on the basement level, not the ground level. These were not the doors that led onto the stage. She turned back and followed Juleka through the door leading to the staircase.

“I did that the first time too,” Juleka said as they made their way up.

“It’s those doors,” Marinette decided. “I didn’t think about there being doors that would lead underneath the stage.”

Juleka shrugged.

By the time they got to the stage, Ivan had caught up and was following close behind. The rows of chairs along the sides of the runway were now in place and the students who had been setting them up were no longer there. There was a light on in a booth at the back of the auditorium now, and several people were visible inside it. The stagehands who had been looking at the lights earlier were gone, too. The only people on the stage now were Rose and Luka, who had moved on from microphones to guitars, plugging them each into a box.

Marinette, Juleka, and Ivan set down the equipment they were carrying. They started across the stage again when Ivan, who was in the lead, came to a sudden stop. Their path was, for the moment, blocked by a determined-looking Chloe Bourgeois, who was marching through the wings accompanied by a bored-looking woman in a shimmering silver dress and heavy make-up.

Right behind Chloe were the two stagehands who had been onstage earlier, carrying a folded ladder between them. The one in front – Marinette thought she had heard the other stagehand call her Lise – was glaring daggers at Chloe. Ivan looked hesitant to walk near and risk getting caught in what looked like inevitable crossfire, and Marinette and Juleka followed suit and hung back with him.

“Excuse me, but what are you doing here?” Lise said to Chloe loudly as she set down her end of the ladder.

“I need to use the stage now,” Chloe said, without breaking her stride toward center stage.

“Who _are_ you?” Lise asked. She was no taller than Rose, but she straightened up and brought her shoulders back slightly as she took several steps in Chloe’s direction.

“ _Me?_ I’m Chloe, and I’m one of the designers for this fashion show, and I need to test my model’s makeup under the lights. Who are _you_?”

“Your rehearsal isn’t supposed to start until 2:00 at least.”

“We’re not _rehearsing_. We’re _testing_ ,” Chloe answered, rounding on her.

“Whatever. You can’t test right now,” Lise answered flatly. “We’re setting up the stage. As you can see,” she said, pointing at the light fixture above Chloe’s head, “you won’t be able to test your makeup under the lights properly because the lights aren’t ready. Why don’t you step back into the wings—”

“I am not waiting in the wings,” Chloe huffed with a steely look in her eyes. “If you’re not ready now, we’ll just wait here until you are.” She folded her arms over her chest.

Lise gave Chloe a disgusted look, then shrugged. “You know what? You do that. Just stay out of everyone else’s way.” With that, she picked up her end of the ladder and the two stagehands continued toward center stage.

“Ridiculous,” Chloe muttered. She began ranting to the woman in the silver dress using words like “incompetent” and “fired”, but then Marinette’s attention shifted again as she became aware of Ivan calling her name.

“Marinette? Are you coming?” The wings were clear now that the stagehands had moved.

“Yeah, I’m right behind you,” Marinette replied, following Ivan and Juleka out toward the van.

When they arrived there, Ivan passed out some drums from the back of the van – a snare drum for Juleka, the bass drum for Marinette, and a stack of soft cases that held several cymbals for himself. He pushed the cargo door closed with his elbow.

“That should be it,” he said.

They made their way up the stairs and to the stage, crossing again to the side where Rose and Luka were starting to tap microphones and strum notes on the guitars, adjusting knobs and dials after each test.

Chloe still stood on the stage as she had threatened, her lips pressed tightly together now and her arms folded across her chest. The woman in the silver dress was on her phone.

The stagehands had the ladder set up now, and one of them was near the top climbing down. “I can’t reach the top of the light fixture to open it. I can get close, but…”

Marinette lost track of their conversation as she set the bass drum down and Ivan addressed her directly.

“Thanks for helping us, Marinette. You saved us at least one trip,” he said, setting the cymbals down nearby.

“No problem,” Marinette answered. “I wasn’t busy.”

From behind her, a female voice called out.

“Hey, you.” Marinette turned. It was one of the stagehands, the one who hadn’t argued with Chloe. But the girl wasn’t looking at Marinette. She was looking at Luka. “Yeah, with the blue hair. Could you help us out for a minute? We can’t bring these lights any closer to the stage right now, and neither of us is quite tall enough to reach the fixture. Can you help us?”

“Uh, sure,” Luka said, with only the briefest hesitation. He stood and walked over to the ladder. The stagehand who had called him over turned to the other stagehand.

“I can hold the ladder. You go to the trap room and find the spare lamp.”

The other girl made a face. “ _I_ can hold the ladder and _you_ can go to the trap room,” she suggested.

“Just _go,_ ” the first girl returned in an exasperated voice.

“Oh, fine.” The other girl grabbed her radio from her hip and spoke into it. “Hey, Quentin, open the trap door please.”

Marinette’s attention was drawn away from the stagehands when Rose spoke up. “Ivan, did you get that microphone stand from the front?”

Ivan was setting up drum stands now, and he sighed. “No, I forgot. I’m sorry.” He looked at his watch. “Do you really need it? There’s not a lot of time and there’s still a lot of setup to do.”

“I know, but I think we really do need it,” Rose said. “I guess I can go.”

“I can do it,” Marinette spoke up.

“Oh, that’d be great! Thank you so much!” Rose said with a smile.

Marinette nodded and walked off the stage, carefully avoiding the hole in the stage floor from the just-opened trap door. As she entered the wings, she heard the sound of a nearby radio like the ones the stagehands on the stage were carrying around.

“Guys, who asked for the trap door open?” There was a note of exasperation in the unfamiliar voice. “There are way too many people using the stage right now for this.”

“I did. I’m just going to go down and look for a spare lamp.”

“Lise, no. Use the hallway stairs. Quentin, close the trap door.”

“But…”

As Marinette continued toward the hallway, the radio conversation grew faint. She felt Tikki stirring in the pocket inside her jacket, and automatically reached into the other inner pocket that held the cookie she had taken from the lunchroom. She broke the cookie into two pieces, letting one half remain in the pocket and slipping the other half into the same pocket as Tikki as she entered the hallway.

At that moment, Marinette caught sight of the garment rack, which was nearly empty now. The only outfit left on it was Adrien’s. Her breath caught slightly.

Tikki poked her head out of her pocket and a few stray crumbs dropped to the floor. Though she had only just woken up, the kwami seemed to understand the situation when she saw Marinette staring at the rack.

“You still haven’t seen Adrien, have you?” she asked.

Marinette shook her head as she turned and headed down the stairs. “I wonder what’s happened to him.”

“I’m sure he’s okay,” Tikki replied.

Marinette said nothing. She was taking the stairs fast now, pulling her phone out of her pocket as she went. She checked the screen. 1:11. Still no message. Still no phone call.

She reached the bottom of the stairs and turned toward the door that led out to the van when she heard a huge crash behind her. It was terribly loud and yet it was still muted somehow. She whirled around to look and her eyes locked on the door that led underneath the stage.

“What was _that_?” came a voice from the stairwell. Marinette recognized it as the voice of Lise, the stagehand. “Did that come from the trap room?”

Before Marinette could respond, Lise had launched herself at the doors and pulled them open.

Marinette followed closely behind. The first thing she noticed, oddly, was the light. It poured down from above. She could see the theater curtains through it.

That’s when Marinette realized with horror that part of stage floor had collapsed. It was like looking at a zipper that had pulled apart by force, or a seam that had come apart in the middle. There was a line across the ceiling of the trap room where floorboards jutted down awkwardly where they were unsupported on one end. Already, Marinette could see faces looking down into the hole even as voices urged them to back up, as other voices called down toward them.

There was surprisingly little rubble on the floor, just some bits of broken pieces of wood, and occasional longer pieces that looked like joists that had ripped off of their supporting beam on the other end. Dust floated through the air in an awful, disconcerting way.

There were bodies on the floor, too. The bright yellow jacket. Chloe. The silver, shimmery dress. Chloe’s model. Both were moving, though, and Marinette felt a detached sense of relief at that. She went to Chloe first because she was closer. The girl was already pushing herself up before Marinette even reached her side, despite Marinette’s admonitions for her to stay still. Marinette put an arm on her shoulder, but she jerked away with an incoherent noise and coughed into her hand before pushing herself to a standing position.

Marinette glanced over at the model, who also appeared to be trying to stand. Lise had her arm extended toward the woman to help her up, but her eyes were on the ceiling. She examined the structure in awe, as though she were trying to understand how a magic trick worked.

“Holy shit,” Marinette heard Lise breathe. “Do you see that?”

“We have to get everyone out of here,” Marinette said decisively, “before more of the floor caves in.”

“But do you see that?” Lise repeated. “How does an entire beam just _dissolve_ like that?”

Something flitted across Marinette’s mind then, and she squinted down at the rubble on the floor.

She realized, with a jolt, that what she was seeing on the floor wasn’t all normal dust and rubble. And she immediately understood what Lise could not. Like most people in Paris, Lise didn’t recognize what she was seeing, because her own Miraculous Ladybug cleanse had always cleaned things like this up before the public had a chance to see it up close.

In fact, there was only one person who might know what something looked like after it had been subjected to Chat Noir’s Cataclysm better than Marinette herself did.

And he was definitely _not_ okay.

* * *

Marinette almost tripped over her feet in her haste to get out of the trap room. At the doorway of the trap room, she had to push past someone who was no doubt coming to help at the scene of the accident, but Marinette paid little mind to that. She raced down the hall and turned down the closest intersecting corridor. It was deserted at the moment, which was good because she hardly bothered to check before she transformed into Ladybug.

She was thinking of Chat Noir. He was _somewhere_ , fighting _something,_ and evidently using Cataclysm had not even slowed whatever it was down. The fight could’ve gone up through the hole in the trap room ceiling, but that seemed unlikely based on the reactions of the people she had seen through the hole. Marinette guessed it was more likely that the fight had stayed in the basement, perhaps going through a door on the other side of the trap room.

Marinette raced down the corridor to the hallway that ran down the other side of the northwest wing. She wondered exactly what Chat was up against. Another akuma attack would mean that the Butterfly Miraculous was active again and was being wielded malevolently. The thought of facing a new Hawk Moth made her shudder. Whatever it was, Marinette recognized that her partner had precious little time before he would be forced to detransform, leaving him completely vulnerable to it.

When she came to the end of the hallway, she skidded to a halt and looked both directions. There was still no evidence telling her where they had gone.

 _How much time?_ How much time had passed in the trap room before she realized that Chat needed her help? She’d gone in, seen the damage. She’d tried to help Chloe up. She’d seen Lise helping Chloe’s model up. How much time had that taken? Maybe a minute. How far could the battle have gotten in one minute?

She turned away from the end of the wing where the stage was, toward the middle of the school where the four wings of the building intersected. She strained her ears for any noise as she ran. It was eerily quiet except for her footsteps and the sound of her heart pounding in her ears.

Marinette stopped completely, listening harder. She thought she heard a scraping sound nearby. She turned a corner into another hallway. It was empty. There were closed doors along both sides of the hall, which she didn’t bother to open.

She reached the end of the hallway and turned again, headed back once more toward the middle of the school.

She pulled out her yo-yo and opened the communicator, hoping that if there had been no message from Adrien on her civilian phone, there might at least be a message from Chat on _this_ phone. There was, of course, nothing.

She acted decisively, knowing it was inadvisable because it would put her in the same danger that Chat was already in. But she was _desperate_ to find the battle that Chat was fighting before it was too late for him. She summoned her Lucky Charm and looked up expectantly.

No object appeared. Nothing dropped into her hands.

Marinette stared helplessly. This had _never_ happened before. Now she was crippled, having only five minutes before she would be forced to detransform, and she had nothing to show for it.

Her head whipped around as she considered her surroundings, unwilling to be stopped by what had just happened. Lucky Charm or no Lucky Charm, she’d search for as long as she could.

There was a door marked “Stairs” nearby. She threw herself against it as she turned the handle and ran up the staircase two steps at a time.

When she got to the top, she was in the intersection of the school’s four wings which served as the main entryway for the entire school. On a normal day, in the middle of the lunch break, this area would be pretty empty. But now, students were dribbling out through the open doors of the northwest wing. They came in a steady stream, though mostly in small clusters of two or three. Mr. Chagny, her history teacher, stood holding open the door to the southwest wing opening, herding students into it.

“Keep moving. Clear the way,” he urged. “Keep the doors clear for emergency workers.”

Several students were whispering to one another and pointing at Marinette now, and Mr. Chagny turned his head to see what was causing their wide-eyed expressions.

“Ladybug?” he said with a confounded look. “Uh… can I help you?”

Marinette didn’t answer. She ran through the open doors into the theater wing, not really having a plan other than to follow her instincts. She turned down the hallway that led to the dressing rooms and collided with another person.

“Oof!”

She stepped back and put a hand on the other person’s shoulder muttering a quick apology as she prepared to run, but then she stopped. Something wasn’t quite right. The other person had not reacted at all. Marinette did a double-take.

It was Enzo. His face was ashen and his face was fearful.

She didn’t want to stay. She wanted to be looking for Chat. But the look on Enzo’s face compelled her to stop. He was staring at her with a too-neutral expression of shock.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“L-Ladybug?” he said weakly.

She nodded.

“This is all my fault,” he said thickly.

“No, it’s not your… Wait. What do you mean?” she asked. _Had Enzo been akumatized?_

“It was him, wasn’t it?”

“What was who?”

“G.A., I mean. He did this.”

Marinette blinked at him in surprise. “G.A.? What are you talking about?” she asked.

“The stage collapse. He did it,” Enzo answered. “There was a note.”

“What note? When? What did it say?”

“It… I can’t remember exactly. I got it on Friday. It just said something like he could make something terrible happen if Chloe didn’t give up her spot at the end of the fashion show.” Enzo’s glazed eyes suddenly locked onto Marinette’s and he squinted at her. “That’s what we’re doing here, you know. It’s a fashion show.”

A thought tugged at the back of Marinette’s mind, but before she could process it, a voice called out.

“Enzo!” it cried as Marinette’s earrings beeped again. “Enzo, I’ve been looking for you!” It was Andrea, who regarded Ladybug with only the briefest of interest before turning back to Enzo.

“Can you get him to the southwest wing? He seems to be in kind of a shock.” Marinette said.

Andrea nodded and put an arm around him, guiding him out into the lobby.

Marinette headed down the hallway again and turned into the doorway which led to the wings of the stage, and the little thought at the back of her mind tugged again. Enzo said G.A. had threatened to cause some sort of disaster at the fashion show. But G.A. didn’t get the chance to, because Chat—

Marinette skidded to a halt.

The curtains of the wings formed something like a tunnel, framing her view of the stage in heavy darkness. Through that tunnel, she could see the stage floor. She could see the wide gash that made approaching the stage on foot a tricky prospect. On the other side of the hole, a ladder lay pushed off to one side. And behind the hole, close to the back of the stage, someone was lying on the floor. No fewer than three medics were there, working in tandem to get the body moved onto a stretcher.

It was the body that had Marinette’s attention. She recognized the dark hooded sweatshirt and black jeans. The hair with tips dyed blue.

Luka.

From the wings, Marinette stared in horror as one of the medics called out a count, and then they were transferring him to a stretcher. Before Marinette had time to catch her breath, they had picked him up and were carrying him away from her, toward the wings on the opposite side of the stage.

There was nothing she could do. Having no Lucky Charm meant that there was no Miraculous Ladybug cleanse that could be invoked. She had no way to fix him.

Her earrings beeped, and she realized with a start that this was her final warning. One more minute, and her transformation would fall. She had to go before someone discovered her secret identity. And Chat Noir’s time had probably run out a good minute or two ago.

She couldn’t save Luka, and she couldn’t save Adrien. Marinette couldn’t remember the last time she felt quite so helpless, or so useless despite her best efforts.

She tore herself away from the wings and returned to the dressing room door. She opened it and flung herself inside, finding herself in a hallway lined with several doors on either side. There was no one there.

She opened the nearest door, which revealed a small room with a few hooks on the wall and a full-length mirror. She slammed the door behind her just before she detransformed, catching Tikki deftly in her hand as the kwami flew out of her earrings.

“Marinette.” Marinette thought Tikki must be tired, but she didn’t sound exhausted or weak. Just sad and concerned. “I’m so sorry.”

Marinette reached into her inner pocket and pulled out the other half of a cookie that was in the pocket. She cradled Tikki in her hand. “Here, Tikki. You have to recharge so we can get back to trying to help Adrien.”

Tikki ignored it. “Marinette, you have to go to Master Fu. He needs to know what’s going on.” Her voice was urgent despite the fatigue in her voice.

“To Master Fu? The Lucky Charm didn’t send me there,” Marinette pointed out, which begged another question. “Tikki, why didn’t I get a Lucky Charm? I tried to get something to help me find Chat Noir. Why didn’t I get anything?”

“For one thing, I think the problem is too vague. Other Ladybugs have used Lucky Charm to try to find things, and it’s rare that it actually works,” Tikki replied. “But besides that, you didn’t try to get something to help you find Chat Noir. You tried to get something to help you find the _battle_ he was fighting. And I’m not sure there was one to find.”

“No battle?”

“Think, Marinette. You were right by the trap room when the stage floor collapsed. Did you hear something going on?”

Marinette tried hard to remember a sound – any sound, a tiny scrape or a small thud. Any shred of evidence that she could hold up to Tikki, because she didn’t like the way this conversation was going. But Tikki was right. There was nothing.

“If there wasn’t a battle, then why would Adrien have cataclysmed the trap room ceiling in the first place?” Marinette asked.

“Do you remember what Enzo said?”

The thought tugging in the back of Marinette’s mind coalesced into a fully conscious thought. She remembered Enzo’s note, which he said was signed by G.A. and which all but took credit for the stage collapse. The stage collapse that Marinette knew for a fact was caused by Chat Noir, who Marinette knew for a fact was Adrien. But…

“Tikki, there’s no way that Adrien really did this. There were people on the stage and if he was below the stage, he would’ve known that. He wouldn’t do something so recklessly dangerous, not to innocent civilians and _not_ over something as silly as the fashion show. It doesn’t make sense.”

“I know, Marinette. I agree that this doesn’t seem like Adrien at all,” Tikki said. “But the evidence we have right now says we can’t rule the idea out, and if it turns out to be true, then the Cat Miraculous may be in danger. Master Fu needs to know.”

Marinette swallowed hard.

“Besides,” Tikki continued, “I can’t transform you again until I’ve recharged, and I’m not sure half a cookie is going to be enough.”

Marinette nodded at Tikki and opened her jacket. The kwami flew inside the inner pocket and she tucked the half cookie next to her.

With a deep breath, Marinette ran out of the dressing room, down the hall toward the lobby.


	7. Chapter 7

Marinette passed by Chloé in the lobby, who was arguing with one of the medics.

“Miss Bourgeois, I really think—”

“I am _not_ going to the hospital,” she huffed. “With all those sick people? I’ll catch something awful. I’m going home…”

Marinette paid little attention to her as she ran through the double doors to the school’s main entrance, then out the front doors and down the steps. She turned down a path that she knew would take her the massage shop where she expected to find Master Fu.

Her mind worked furiously as she ran, never stopping on any one memory for long.

Enzo’s note. The ceiling of the trap room caved in. Chloé and the model on the ground. Luka lying on the stage with the medics hovering over him. The speed at which they had transferred him to the stretcher and carried him off the stage. And over and over again, the swirling, ashy, black dust.

If she could find Adrien, she could talk to him and sort this out. She knew she could. She fought an impulse to stop and turn back.

Tikki seemed to sense her wavering in her resolve. “We’re almost there,” she urged quietly, and Marinette hurried onward.

When she arrived at the shop, Marinette jerked the door open and flung herself inside, only considering a split second later the possibility that Master Fu might be with a client.

“Master Fu!” she gasped out. She looked around, panting for air. Thankfully, Master Fu wasn’t with a client. In fact, he was nowhere in sight. “Master Fu?”

A door in the back opened then, and Master Fu stepped through it. He was carrying a teacup and a saucer and didn’t look entirely surprised to see her. Wayzz, the small green turtle kwami, followed with a grave expression.

Tikki, apparently satisfied that the coast was clear, flew out of Marinette’s jacket pocket. Marinette was still catching her breath, and she was happy when Tikki took over the talking.

“Master Fu, we have an awful problem,” the kwami said.

“Hello, Tikki,” Master Fu greeted her. “Marinette, it’s good that you’re here. Come.”

He turned and headed back to the room from which he had entered, Wayzz close behind him. Tikki followed Wayzz, and Marinette brought up the rear.

The room, it turned out, was a small kitchen. There was a small table with two chairs against one wall. On the opposite wall, there was a counter with a sink and a refrigerator in the corner. A small television, currently turned off, rested on the counter. On the adjoining wall was a stove, atop of which sat a tea kettle that was still sending up small tendrils of steam from the liquid inside.

Master Fu gestured toward the table, and Marinette gratefully pulled out a chair and took a seat.

“Master Fu—” Tikki began.

“First things first, Tikki,” Master Fu said. He turned to Marinette. “Would you like some tea?”

“This is important,” Tikki protested.

“There’s always time for tea,” Master Fu replied with a gentle smile. He turned to the cabinets to get a cup for Marinette. “And you’re not looking so well, Tikki,” Master Fu called over his shoulder. “Perhaps a treat for you as well?”

Marinette’s breathing was starting to return to normal. Emotionally, she was beginning to feel slightly numb, providing a pleasant disconnect between herself and reality that was making it a little easier, for the moment, to think clearly.

“Tikki’s right,” she said as the old man picked up the tea kettle. “This can’t wait. It’s about Chat Noir. Adrien.”

Master Fu paused just before he began to pour the tea. He looked up at her with genuine surprise. “You two told each other your identities?”

“Uh… yes? I thought you knew that.”

Master Fu smiled slightly. “It’s been a while, Marinette. You haven’t come to see me since you were asking about retiring.”

“Oh,” Marinette said, somewhat abashed. It was true, although it hadn’t really occurred to her until now.

“It’s risky to tell others your identity,” Master Fu continued. “I know Tikki warned you about this.”

“Of course! And when Hawk Moth was around, we never told anybody! But with Hawk Moth gone… and then we were retiring… we thought it was for the best.”

Master Fu’s expression was guarded, and she could not guess what he was thinking as he returned to pouring the tea. Steam rose from the liquid that filled Marinette’s cup. She murmured a polite thank you.

“Have you told anybody else?” he asked. He turned toward a cabinet and pulled out a package of cookies that was still sealed shut.

Marinette shifted uncomfortably. “Just Luka.” Master Fu raised an eyebrow at her. “He’s… ah… he’s my boyfriend.” Master Fu’s eyebrow raised even further.

After a short pause, his expression returned to neutral with a small sigh. “It’s probably best for you not to tell anyone else about your identity going forward,” he said. There wasn’t any scolding in his voice, but Marinette couldn’t help but feel slightly embarrassed anyway.

Master Fu turned toward Tikki with a cookie in his hand, which he held out toward her. “For you.” She took it gratefully and took a generous bite. Master Fu handed another cookie to Marinette, who also accepted it, though she only laid it next to her teacup.

“Something happened at the school today,” Marinette said.

Master Fu listened silently while Marinette told the story as briefly as she could. She told about how the stage collapsed and how she had realized that Chat Noir had been involved, although there was no evidence of a fitting provocation for it.

When she was done, Master Fu sat quietly for a moment and rubbed his chin.

“You and Adrien are very close to one another, I expect,” he finally said.

Marinette paused, a little uncertain how to respond. As her one-time partner, someone who she had spent countless hours with in the past, there was no one closer. And yet…

She shrugged and shook her head slightly.

“So you have no idea what might have led him to use his Cataclysm in such a way?”

“Well… there is one thing,” she said slowly. “But even though it kind of fits, it isn’t like Adrien at all.” She explained briefly about G.A. and her conversation with Enzo in the theater lobby.

“There were threats made against a particular student? Was this student around when the floor collapsed?”

“Yes,” Marinette said reluctantly. “She fell through the hole.” She thought about Chloé in the theater lobby, arguing with the medic and refusing to go to the hospital. “She didn’t seem badly hurt, though.”

Master Fu was quiet for a few moments again. “Perhaps…?” He glanced over at Wayzz, who seemed to understand the unspoken question.

“I’ve sensed nothing unusual regarding the aura around the Cat Miraculous, Master. I believe it is still in Adrien’s possession,” Wayzz replied.

Master Fu sighed and his shoulders slumped a little. “I don’t want to lose a Chat Noir, nor do I want to lose another Miraculous.”

Marinette stood, her tea and cookie still untouched. “You _haven’t_ lost them,” she insisted. “I’ll find Adrien and get to the bottom of this. Come on, Tikki.” She picked up the cookie and tucked it into her pocket for later.

“Marinette, wait,” Master Fu said. “How will you find him?”

Once again, Marinette was caught off guard. “I go to school with him. And I know where he lives.” She looked into Master Fu’s and Wayzz’s grave faces each in turn.

“I’m afraid it won’t be that simple, Marinette,” Master Fu said gently.

He picked up a remote control and pressed a button. Across the kitchen, the television screen came on. It was playing a news report. The headline across the bottom read simply:

“Breaking News: Adrien Agreste Reported Missing”

The newscaster was talking.

“…missing since Sunday afternoon…have not yet ruled out foul play…”

Marinette stared at the television with her mouth agape. She stopped listening to the words, simply turning over this newest revelation over in her mind. She only came out of her reverie when the television went blank and silent in front of her. She blinked over at Master Fu, who held the remote control in his hand.

She realized then that she had her hands on the back of the dining room chair and was leaning against it heavily. She pushed herself back onto her own feet before giving the back of the chair a firm squeeze that turned her knuckles white.

“Okay,” she said. “We know Adrien was at the school thirty minutes ago. He can’t have gotten far from there, can he? I’ll transform and start sweeping the city. I’m sure I’ll find him in no time.”

“Finding Adrien might not be as simple as tracking down one of Hawk Moth’s villains,” Master Fu cautioned her. “Hawk Moth’s villains were never much for hiding because they were _trying_ to draw you and Chat Noir out. We don’t understand Chat Noir’s motives for sure, but it’s likely that finding him will be more difficult. And as you’ve already seen, your Lucky Charm isn’t likely to be helpful for something like this.”

“Then what _should_ we do?” Marinette asked.

“I’m not sure what we _can_ do for now, except wait,” Master Fu said. “Perhaps if we’re lucky, the police will find him soon.”

It wasn’t a satisfying answer, and yet Marinette didn’t have a convincing counter-argument.

“Master,” Wayzz said, “if Adrien did, indeed, attack someone at the school without good grounds, would it not be wise to inform the public of the danger? Especially if so many in the city are going to be actively looking for him.”

Marinette opened her mouth to protest, but Master Fu spoke first.

“I understand your concern, Wayzz, but at the moment, the risks would outweigh the benefits. There is nothing useful we can tell the public without compromising Adrien’s identity as Chat Noir. Remember that there are plenty of people in Paris who are aware that Hawk Moth wanted the Ladybug and Cat Miraculous because of the great power that they possessed. Telling the public who Chat Noir is puts not only the Cat Miraculous at risk from those who might be eager to have that power for themselves, but also Adrien himself.”

“I have to find him,” Marinette said with quiet desperation.

“I understand your feeling, Marinette. And I advise you, by all means, to keep watch for him. Stay informed regarding the police search for Adrien, and perhaps you could even return to a semi-regular patrol routine. But I would caution you against spending all your time and energy in an unfocused search.”

Marinette nodded, and the room was quiet for a moment until Master Fu spoke again.

“Have you thought about what to do about the student who was threatened?”

“Chloé Bourgeois?” Marinette had not thought about her hardly at all.

Master Fu nodded. “She’s one of only two people that we have any reason to believe might be specifically in danger from Chat Noir. You might consider telling her to take precautions for her safety. You would, of course, have to avoid mentioning Chat Noir or Adrien specifically.”

Marinette pondered this. As unlikely as it seemed to her that Adrien really intended an attack against her, she didn’t have any other theories to go on. Warning Chloé was something she could _do_. It was really the _only_ proactive thing she could do.

“Master Fu, who is the other one?” Tikki asked suddenly.

Marinette looked over at Tikki in confusion.

Tikki noticed Marinette’s expression, and her next comment was directed to her. “Master Fu said Chloé was one of only two people who were specifically in danger from Chat Noir. Who would the other one be?”

Master Fu held his teacup up, his face half-hidden behind it as he spoke. “Marinette.” He took a sip of tea, looking at her over his cup.

“ _Me?_ Why me?”

Master Fu put the cup back on the table. “We have no knowledge of Adrien’s state of mind. Until we do, we must always remember that he, too, knows the power of the Cat and Ladybug Miraculous combined, and we don’t know for sure that he won’t want that power for himself. And unlike Hawk Moth, he is already halfway to having it.”

Marinette shook her head. “I don’t believe that.”

“Neither do I,” Master Fu said sympathetically. “But you would do well to keep it in mind. To do anything else would be foolish.”

* * *

When Marinette left Master Fu’s shop, she was already transformed into Ladybug. She swung off in the direction of Le Grand Paris.

When she arrived at the hotel, she eschewed the front door and went straight to Chloé’s balcony. She could see Chloé inside, reclining on her bed and looking at her phone.

Marinette knocked on the window. The girl looked up, her shock evident by the expression on her face. As Marinette watched, Chloé stood up and walked over to the window to unlock it.

“ _Ladybug_ ,” Chloé wailed as she threw open the door, throwing her arms around Marinette’s neck as though she were a lifeline. “It’s so good of you to come. I’m having such a dreadful day—”

“Chloé, where is your father?” Marinette interrupted, trying to hide her look of distaste as she extricated herself from Chloé’s embrace.

“Daddy?” Chloé sniffed, and for the first time, Marinette realized that her eyes were red-rimmed and teary. “He’s still at City Hall.”

Marinette eyed Chloé. “And how are you? I heard you fell when the stage collapsed this afternoon.”

“How do you think I feel? I fell through the _floor_.” Chloé scowled and dabbed at her eyes with a finger gingerly. She looked fretfully into the mirror and dabbed here and there around her eyes again. “I’m sure I’ll have the most _awful_ bruises in the morning and—”

Marinette assumed this meant she felt fine, relatively speaking. She cut her off again. “I’m taking you to your father.”

“What? Why?”

“No time to explain right now,” Marinette said firmly. “Let’s go.”

She grabbed Chloé’s wrist and dragged her to the balcony. She wrapped one arm around the other girl’s body. “Better hang on tight,” she said. Before Chloé could protest, she used her free hand to fire her yo-yo with practiced precision and started off toward City Hall.

* * *

Marinette could’ve entered the building through the main entrance like any other person. As Ladybug, and especially with Chloé in tow, she probably could have even been admitted into the mayor’s office in fairly short order without an appointment.

But she wasn’t in the mood to take that route, and thankfully, the mayor’s office had a large balcony. Marinette landed on it and knocked forcefully on the door. Inside, she saw Mayor Bourgeois swivel around in his chair, his startled expression turning into genuine surprise to see Ladybug standing there with his daughter. In another stroke of fortune for Marinette, the mayor appeared to be alone at the moment. He stood quickly and opened the door to let them in.

“Good heavens, Ladybug. I thought you were retired. What are you doing here? And why is Chloé with you?” he asked, closing the balcony door behind them. He turned to Chloé without waiting for an answer. “How are you, my princess? I told you I would be home in a few hours when you called. Couldn’t this have waited?”

“Mayor Bourgeois,” Marinette interrupted, “Chloé may be in danger.”

“Danger?” Chloé repeated.

“From whom?” Mayor Bourgeois demanded to know.

“I can’t say,” Marinette replied firmly. “But for her own safety, it’d be better if she went away for a while.”

“Do I have to?” Chloé complained. “I mean, if I’m really in danger, can’t you just stay with me and be my bodyguard?”

 _Not in a million years_ , Marinette thought.

“I can’t do that,” was what she said, though. “I have other responsibilities to take care of, too. I can’t be with you around the clock.”

“Are you really suggesting I should send Chloé away from home?” Mayor Bourgeois asked. He frowned thoughtfully at Chloé. “I’m not sure where she could go on such short notice.”

“Maybe I could stay with Sabrina,” Chloé said. “Her dad’s a police officer, so that’s kind of like having a bodyguard, although—”

“Chloé,” her father said, and there was a tone of surprise and mild reproach in his voice. “Sabrina? Wouldn’t you prefer to stay with someone… more…?”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but Chloé clearly understood his meaning. Her face twisted into an expression of half anger and half… something else. The corners of her mouth turned down, but her eyes narrowed determinedly.

Marinette hastily stepped in. “Chloé should probably leave Paris altogether. Just temporarily.”

Mayor Bourgeois was nonplussed. “But for how long? She has school!”

“I don’t know,” Marinette said. “Maybe two weeks?” Marinette _hoped_ that everything would be resolved in two weeks. “Maybe less. I’ll let you know.”

Mayor Bourgeois frowned at Chloé again. “Well,” he said slowly, “perhaps your mother would be willing to let you stay with her in New York. I’ll call her right now.”

Mayor Bourgeois pulled out a cell phone. He stepped away toward the front of his office as he dialed a phone number, leaving the two girls standing near the balcony door.

“Ladybug,” Chloé said as soon as her father began speaking on the phone. Marinette had been staring at a spot on the ground; now she looked up at Chloé in a silent response.

“Ladybug, is this about G.A.?” she demanded.

“I told you, I really can’t answer that.”

“But you heard about that, right? With the notes?” Chloé persisted.

Marinette looked at Chloé warily but said nothing.

“Someone has been messing with the fashion show that we were putting on today. It’s all anonymous, through notes in our lockers. I got one on Friday,” Chloé continued.

“I heard it was someone else who got that note.”

“So you _have_ heard,” Chloé said. “There were two notes.”

Marinette sighed in exasperation. “Why didn’t you tell anyone about them earlier?”

“I thought it was just a bunch of lame nonsense. There’s this girl in our club, Marinette Dupain-Cheng—” (Marinette closed her eyes so that Chloé could not see her rolling them as she continued.) “—who was clearly behind it all.”

“Marinette was _not_ behind this.”

Chloé looked at Marinette sharply. “I have proof she was.”

“What proof?”

“She was the first person there after the stage collapsed. She was _pretending_ to help, but I knew there had to be more to it.”

“That’s not proof. Why do you think that Marinette would do something like that to you in the first place?” Marinette demanded. “What has she ever done to you?”

Chloé lifted her chin and fixed Marinette with a hard look as she opened her mouth to respond, but Marinette didn’t stop.

“Marinette’s the one who told me you might’ve been a target when the stage collapsed. She’s the only reason I’m _here_ , protecting you at all.”

Chloé crossed her arms over her chest, but her face looked slightly less certain. She opened her mouth again, but this time, she was interrupted by Mayor Bourgeois.

“Chloé, my darling, you are in luck. Your mother is currently on a work trip to Milan and is planning to be there for several weeks. She says you can stay with her there, at least for the time being.”

Chloé sniffed, this time with an air of self-importance. “Fine. When will the plane be ready?”

“I’m sorry, princess, but the private plane is undergoing maintenance right now. I’ll have to book you on a commercial flight. It was the only option I could find on such short notice. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Chloé said, sounding somewhat sullen. She glanced over at Marinette, looking strangely defensive.

“I’ll make sure it’s a first-class ticket. I’ll pull whatever strings I have to—”

“I told you, it’s _fine_ ,” Chloé repeated, turning her glare toward him. He was already looking at his phone again, though, and didn’t notice.

“You’ll have to hurry,” he said. “The next flight leaves in two hours.”

“Two hours? But I still have to pack.”

“Don’t bother,” Marinette said quickly. “Just take what’s essential and replace the rest in Milan. I’ll take you back to the hotel right now.” She turned to the mayor, then. “Is twenty minutes enough time for you to get a car to the hotel to take her to the airport?”

The mayor nodded, and Marinette led Chloé back to the balcony. No words were spoken between them this time as Marinette lifted Chloé and started on their way.

When they arrived back on the balcony at Le Grand Paris, Chloé entered her room and immediately headed toward the drawer. Marinette started to turn to leave, when Chloé said, “Wait!” Marinette turned. Chloé’s face looked pale.

“Can you stay with me until I’m in the car?” she said. She sounded surprisingly meek.

Marinette jerked her head in a nod, then crossed her arms and stood by the bed.

Chloé turned back to the drawer and started rifling through it. Marinette saw her take out a small booklet which Marinette was sure was a passport. She sifted through it again, then paused. She glanced at Marinette, then withdrew a large manila envelope.

Marinette couldn’t help but notice a certain paper sticking out of the top of the envelope. There was something familiar about it that she couldn’t place. What little she had seen was exceptionally vague – just a certain shade of blue with a small blotch of dark purplish-grey. She knew without seeing the rest of the picture that it was a sky and part of a cloud, but she couldn’t immediately say where she had seen that image before.

Before she had time to process it further, Chloé tapped it down so that it was fully inside the envelope and then dropped her passport in beside it.

Marinette looked at the clock on Chloé’s dresser. “Come on. The car will be here any minute.”

“I’m still looking.”

Chloé opened her wardrobe and peered inside. When she spoke, she was talking to herself more than to Marinette. “The boots or the handbag? They’re both essential,” she muttered.

“No, they’re not,” Marinette said firmly. Ignoring her protests, she took Chloé by the wrist and marched with her to the elevator, pressed the button for the lobby, and then marched her out of the building to the street.

The car was just pulling up as the girls approached the curb. Chloé opened the door and slid into the empty back seat. She turned to Marinette then, her eyes squinted as though she were considering something. She gripped the handle of the door and started to pull it, then stopped and narrowed her eyes further. Suddenly, without any further word, she slammed the door shut and turned her face straight ahead. Marinette watched the car pull away as Chloé’s eyes bored holes in the back of the passenger seat ahead of her.

* * *

With Chloé gone, Marinette’s attention returned to other things. The adrenaline rush of the past two hours was dissipating. It was replaced by an aching feeling of uncertainty and absence. She had no solid game plan now, so with nothing left to do, it seemed like it was time to go back to her civilian life and pick up the pieces she had left hanging there. She was anxious to check her phone and see if there was any word for her about Luka.

She had already started swinging through the streets toward the bakery when a thought struck her. Tikki had told her that using Lucky Charm to _find_ something was not reliable. _But_ , she thought, _would it work if I reframed the problem?_

She released the yo-yo string and let momentum carry her to the top of a rooftop, where she made a neat landing. She focused her mind, this time not on the thought of _finding_ Adrien, but on that of _helping_ him. She summoned the Lucky Charm, and she felt a thrill when she saw a small object appear overhead.

She caught it and turned it over in her hand, dumbfounded. In another situation, she might’ve appreciated the absurdity of it. Her Lucky Charm had, in fact, produced a literal lucky charm.

It wasn’t just any lucky charm. It was a bracelet, made of red string and eight different beads. Some beads were varying shades of blue, and others were caramel in color. The bead at the end was in the shape of a bell. She knew this bracelet. It was a perfect replica of the one that Adrien had given to her at her fourteenth birthday party.

She swallowed hard and gripped the bracelet tightly in her hand. She didn’t know if she felt reassured or not by the thought that Adrien could use some good luck right now.  And she had no idea how to use the bracelet to help Adrien if she couldn’t find him to begin with.

She wondered if perhaps the bracelet was meant to guide her to the park where she had received the gift from Adrien, and she quickly swung her way over to it. But although she searched diligently for the remainder of the five minutes that she had left, she turned up nothing.

She hid herself in a small area between a windowless wall and a row of hedges and stared down at the bracelet in her hand as the timer beeped its final beep and she detransformed. When her transformation disappeared, so did the bracelet. She caught Tikki in her hand and helped her into the inner pocket of her jacket before turning toward home.

* * *

If it had been late at night when no one was around, Adrien could’ve made it from the basement of the northwest wing to the entrance to the passageway and into the forgotten storage room in two minutes flat. But the possibility of a stray student or teacher wandering down the halls meant that he had to be extra cautious – even as his heart pounded and his body trembled with the adrenaline surging through his body.

He leapt out of the passageway, his feet barely hitting the floor before the timer ran out and his transformation dropped.

Plagg flew out from Adrien’s ring hissing and spitting. He usually made a dramatic display of his exhaustion after Adrien detransformed, especially when Cataclysm had been used. This time, whatever tiredness he usually felt was apparently overridden with anger.

“Have you _lost_ _your_ _mind_?” he sputtered toward Adrien. Adrien ignored him as he stumbled blindly toward the armchair.

Plagg flew in front of him, getting right into his face and blocking his way. Adrien avoided eye contact and swatted a hand at him. It connected unexpectedly. Plagg flew clear across the room. Adrien would’ve apologized, except he knew Plagg was fine because, within seconds, he was right by Adrien’s side again, this time staying just out of reach.

“What do you think you were _doing_ back there?” Plagg demanded. “The Miraculous was given to you so you could do _good_. I know you’re angry and hurt and whatever, but that doesn’t mean you—”

Adrien unceremoniously took off his ring, silently renouncing it, and Plagg immediately vanished. Adrien stuffed the ring into his pocket.

He collapsed onto the armchair and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his forehead resting in his hands. He let out a long shaky breath. He pushed his hands back roughly into his hair, gripping some of the hair in his hands tightly.

He stayed that way for a moment, feeling the not-quite-painful tugging at his scalp that somehow made him feel a little more grounded.

Plagg was right, he decided. He had lost his mind.

He let go of his hair and smoothed it down. He moved his hands down over his face and dug the heels of his palms into his closed eyes instead. He pressed so hard he started seeing stars, though, and soon he stopped that too. Instead, he pulled his feet onto the armchair, drawing his knees close to his chest. He wrapped his arms around his legs and rested his forehead on his knees.

He had made a mistake. A huge mistake. A whole series of them, really.

It was a mistake to be in the theater wing at all. He’d only been there because he knew that’s where he was supposed to be, even if he had no intention of showing his face to anyone. He didn’t have anywhere else to be, and it seemed as good a place as any. He should’ve gone somewhere else.

It was a mistake to stay when he realized that Luka was up there on the stage. When the trap door opened and Adrien caught a glimpse of Luka on the ladder, he could’ve walked away.

It was a mistake to think that, in his emotional state, he could maintain precise control over his power. He had only meant to take out the column under the stage, which would’ve only caused the floor to sag a bit. At worst, the ladder might’ve wobbled a bit. But instead, his destructive power had taken the beam that the column was supporting, as well. Instead of a scare, he had created bedlam.

He needed a plan. He knew he wasn’t going back to the mansion. He hadn’t gone back last night, but that was just a temporary measure that he had hoped would help him clear his head. Now he could rule out returning there altogether. It was way too risky. He was pretty sure that Ladybug knew who _he_ was, so she would certainly look for him there. And he had every intention of confronting her, but only on his own terms.

To be fair, Ladybug had never promised or pretended to love him. She was free to kiss someone else if she wanted. (Adrien tangled his fingers back into his hair and pulled at it again.) But everything else – lying to him and leaving him, breaking her promises – these were things he could righteously be angry over.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Miraculous. He rubbed his thumb slowly against the dull metal band. As he slipped the ring back onto his finger, he wondered what Plagg was going to say to all this.

When Plagg reappeared, he picked up right where he had left off. “—can use your power as a tool for revenge, especially—”

“ _Plagg_ , stop.”

Plagg stopped talking, but he eyed Adrien warily.

“Here.” Adrien pulled a wedge of camembert from an inside pocket and tossed it to Plagg. The kwami caught it but just continued to glare at Adrien.

“Eat it,” Adrien urged him.

“Why?” Plagg said suspiciously.

“Because you’re hungry,” Adrien said evenly. “You’re always hungry after we’ve transformed. You’re always hungry, period. Eat it.”

“Not until we talk. This is serious.”

“I’m telling you to eat it,” Adrien insisted, knowing it was futile. He knew he would be met with obstinate refusal.

To his surprise, Plagg popped the entire wedge of cheese into his mouth. Instead of swallowing it whole, as was his custom, he chewed it slowly, making faces and glaring spitefully at Adrien the entire time.

Adrien took advantage of Plagg’s preoccupation with chewing to speak uninterrupted. “Plagg, I have to find Ladybug.”

Plagg almost choked on the cheese that he was swallowing.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Plagg responded finally, once his mouth was clear. “That is the _last_ thing you need right now.”

“Why?”

“ _Why_? She broke your heart and you destroyed the theater stage. I can’t imagine what you’d do if you actually confronted her.”

“That was an _accident_. I wasn’t really trying to hurt anybody.”

When Plagg spoke again, his tone was gentler. Not gentle, but gentler.

“I know you didn’t mean it. And if anyone understands that wielding the power of destruction means that accidents sometimes happen, it’s me. But you got reckless, and accident or not, people might have been hurt. Do yourself a favor and stay far away from Ladybug.”

Adrien sank back down onto the armchair. “What should I do?” he asked miserably. “Do you think I should turn myself in?”

“Definitely not. Not yet. Turning yourself in will inevitably mean giving up your secret identity. At least wait until you’ve found out exactly how much damage has been done.”

Adrien put his head back in his hands. He felt a soft fluttering breeze against his arm, and he knew Plagg was next to him now, probably sitting on the arm of the chair. It was comforting in its own small way.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bring a snack, because this chapter turned out to be rather long. Thanks for your patience!

As she made her way on foot to the bakery, Marinette pulled her cell phone from her pocket and scanned the messages that were waiting for her. There were several.

One was from her mom, but since Marinette was on her way home right now, that one could wait.

Several were from Alya. Those could wait too.

Three were from Rose. These were the ones she opened.

**[1:15 PM - Rose]: Where are you???**

**[1:17 PM - Rose]: Are you okay?**

**[2:45 PM - Rose]: Luka is at L’hôpital des Saints. He’s unconscious. The doctors are running tests. No broken bones.**

That was the information Marinette was looking for. She checked the time. The last message had come about thirty minutes ago. Marinette slowed her footsteps and texted Rose back.

**[3:12 PM – Marinette]: Any more news?**

She held her phone in her hand and resumed her quick, purposeful strides toward the bakery, but she stopped again when her phone chimed with a response.

**[3:14 PM – Rose]: No. It’s all wait and see right now. No new updates until tomorrow unless he wakes up before then. Are you okay?**

**[3:14 PM – Marinette]: I’m fine. How are Juleka and her mom?**

**[3:15 PM – Rose]: Worried, of course, but they’re holding up.**

**[3:15 PM – Marinette]: I’ll come over soon.**

Marinette was in sight of the bakery before Rose’s next message finally came.

**[3:19 PM – Rose]: Don’t. They’re still running tests so you won’t be able to see Luka, and there’s nothing else to do here except wait. Tomorrow would be better. I’ll let you know if there’s any change before then.**

Marinette let herself in through the side door. She heard quick footsteps from the top of the stairs, and she was only halfway up when she saw her mother’s worried face peering down at her.

“Marinette!” her mother exclaimed. She hurried down the steps toward Marinette and pulled her into a strong embrace. Marinette buried her face in her mother’s shoulder, surprised by just how warm and comforting it felt.

When they finally pulled apart and headed up the stairs and through the door into the kitchen, Marinette offered no explanation for her absence, and her mother didn’t ask for one. What she did ask was, “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Marinette said. “I… No. I mean, I didn’t get hurt, but Luka’s at the hospital. He’s unconscious.” Her voice trembled slightly, but not as much as she had expected.

“Oh, honey.” Her mother’s voice was all sympathy. “Do they know when he might wake up?”

Marinette shook her head.

“Have a seat. Are you hungry?” Her mother pulled a dining room chair back for Marinette. “Let me tell your father you’re back, and then I can get you something.”

“No thanks. I’m not hungry,” Marinette said. Her mother nodded, then left downstairs toward the bakery.

As soon as her mother was gone, Tikki flew out from Marinette’s jacket.

“I’ll be upstairs,” she said with a yawn. Marinette nodded and watched as Tikki floated up and phased through the ceiling. Marinette knew she was tired. Multiple transformations in a day had never been exactly easy on her, and being out of practice could only have made it harder.

Marinette went to the living room and sank down on the couch. She pulled out her phone, and then she finally opened Alya’s messages. There was really nothing surprising there.

**[1:36 PM – Alya]: I heard about the stage collapse. Are you okay?**

**[1:55 PM – Alya]: Hello?**

**[2:16 PM – Alya]: I swear, if you’re dead, I’m going to kill you.**

Marinette tapped in her response.

**[3:25 PM – Marinette]: I’m okay.**

**[3:25 PM – Alya]: I KNOW THAT NOW.**

**[3:27 PM – Alya]: I finally heard that someone saw you downstairs after the stage collapsed. But next time, girl, answer your damn texts.**

**[3:28 PM – Alya]: What about Luka? Have you heard any news about him?**

**[3:29 PM – Marinette]: Rose says they’re running tests. They won’t know anything until tomorrow.**

**[3:29 PM – Alya]: That sucks.**

**[3:30 PM – Marinette]: Yeah.**

Marinette switched tasks on her phone and began searching for news updates on the Adrien Agreste case. There were already a number of hits on the subject, but none of the stories were any longer than a few sentences. There was nothing out there she didn’t already know.

She tapped her finger against the side of the phone, thinking. Then, she switched back to her text conversation with Alya.

**[3:33 PM – Marinette]: Hey, do you know if Nino has heard anything from Adrien today?**

There was a longer-than-necessary pause before Marinette got the next text.

**[3:40 PM – Alya]: So you heard about that. I already asked. Nino doesn’t know anything. He’s just as surprised as everyone else.**

* * *

Marinette spent the remainder of the evening feeling restless and slightly agitated. She started several texts to Rose, only to delete them unsent. Rose had already said she would tell her if there was any update about Luka. At one point, she received another message from Alya who seemed to want to discuss Adrien’s absence, but Marinette was in no mood to invent lies about the subject, so she evaded that discussion altogether.

She really wanted to go out on a patrol, but she couldn’t go now. Her parents were clearly worried about her, and she knew they would be far too vigilant to allow her to get away with a trick like stuffing pillows under her blankets. She’d have to wait until they went to bed. Not for the first time, she was grateful that her parents owned a bakery. Their early mornings generally made for early bedtimes, too.

Even so, it was well after 8:00 before Marinette finally felt comfortable saying goodnight to her parents, and it took everything she had to walk calmly up the stairs. When she got there, she opened the drawer that held Tikki’s fabric scrap bed a little too quickly, startling the kwami awake.

“Sorry!” Marinette squeaked.

Tikki scrunched her eyes against the bright light. “S’ok,” she mumbled.

“Are you up for a patrol?” Marinette asked hopefully.

Tikki stretched before she flew out of the drawer and responded. “Yeah. Of course. Did you find a new lead on Adrien?”

“Not really. But I can’t just sit here doing nothing. I have to _try_.” Marinette climbed through the hatch to the rooftop garden, with Tikki following close behind.

Marinette whispered the transformation phrase and immediately felt like something was off. Not wrong, exactly, just different. At first, she couldn’t identify what had changed. It wasn’t until she tried to shrug it off and start her patrol that she realized that she was already holding something in her yo-yo hand.

She held the foreign object up and realized that it was the replica of Adrien’s charm bracelet that her Lucky Charm had summoned earlier. She held it up to her face, examining it curiously, wondering if it was normal for an unused Lucky Charm to persist between transformations. Tikki would probably know. She’d have to ask her later.

She debated for a moment about what she ought to do. Leaving the bracelet behind on the rooftop seemed wrong, but there was nowhere in her skin-tight uniform to keep it. Tying it to her wrist was the only solution she could think of, but she was familiar enough with the real bracelet to know that was a gamble. The real bracelet had a habit of coming untied, no matter how tight she made the knots. And even though she had always known she could probably modify it somehow to make it more secure, she could never bring herself to change anything about the way Adrien had made it.

She finally reasoned that the Lucky Charm was still with her for a reason and that it wouldn’t be very lucky of it to fall off her wrist mid-patrol, so she tied it as tightly as she could and headed out.

But, despite the good luck charm she wore, the patrol was disappointingly fruitless. Without much in the way of a plan, Marinette found herself slipping into the same patrol routes that she and Chat had often run together, with only some minor deviations that took her past the Agreste mansion a little more frequently than usual. She scanned the streets below as she went, looking for familiar blond hair, even as she chastised herself about how unlikely it was that she would ever find Adrien this way.

Occasionally, she found herself marveling at just how much of her Ladybug muscle memory she had retained. It didn’t just dictate her route but also exactly which anchors she wrapped her yo-yo around and how much of the string she let out at each one. It was all so ingrained and familiar that, on more than one occasion, she found herself glancing to her side, half-expecting to see Chat running alongside her on a rooftop or using his baton mid-jump to change directions and follow her through a turn. Then she would remember why he wasn’t there, and she’d redouble her efforts on searching the street below.

It was several hours before Marinette alighted on the bakery rooftop again, exhaustion finally forcing her to give up for the night. She detransformed and headed back into her room to get ready for bed.

Once inside, she pulled a cookie out of her drawer stash and held it out toward Tikki.

“No thank you,” Tikki said wearily. Marinette could see that, despite her nap, her eyes looked heavy and her antennae were drooping. “I’ll eat a big breakfast tomorrow.” And with that, the kwami dove into Marinette’s desk drawer where her little bed was kept.

Marinette considered changing into pajamas, but decided not to bother. She took off her jacket and kicked off her shoes, then pulled back the covers on her bed and crawled in, adjusting her pillow slightly the way she always did. She sat and pulled the blankets up to her waist, then reached for the switch to turn off her desk lamp. “Good night, Tikki,” she called.

“Good night, Marinette.”

Marinette’s fingers hesitated on top of the light switch. Quite suddenly, she found herself thinking about the conversation with Master Fu from earlier in the day. She thought about the way he had looked over his teacup at her when he told her that Chat Noir could be after her Miraculous.

That, of course, wasn’t possible. This was _Adrien_ he was talking about. Marinette knew that Master Fu knew him, that Master Fu had been the one who _chosen_ him to be Chat Noir. But it was certainly Marinette who knew him better.

She firmly pressed the switch on the light, and immediately the room was cloaked in darkness. She slid down between the sheets and laid her head on her pillow emphatically. It had been a long day, and she was looking forward to a good night’s sleep.

A tiny voice in her head spoke up. _But what if Adrien **were**_ _after them?_ He did know where she lived, after all. Did she want to be woken up by a surprise visit from Chat Noir if he came looking for her Miraculous?

There was a sound on the roof then, fairly quiet, but sharp. Marinette sat bolt upright. Her fingers flew to the light switch and flicked it on. She stared up at the hatch, her heart racing. She started to call out for Tikki, when the sharp _ping_ came again. Her breath left her in a gasp. The sound came again, and then it was joined by dozens and hundreds of others, blending together into a cacophony on the roof.

She recognized the sound now. It was rain. Just rain.

Marinette took a deep breath. When she turned to switch the lamp off again, she saw Tikki’s head half-poking out of the desk drawer, just barely peeking over the side.

They locked eyes for a moment, and then Tikki flew up.  “It’s okay, Marinette. I can stay awake,” she said quietly.

“You don’t need to do that,” Marinette insisted. “I just…” She trailed off, trying to find an excuse to explain her behavior, but she couldn’t think of anything quickly enough to fool Tikki, judging by the look on the kwami’s face. “You’re tired,” she said instead. “You should get some rest.”

“You need sleep too, and I can nap in your purse during the day.”

Marinette didn’t have the energy to argue any further. She lay down with her head on the pillow as Tikki switched on the computer and flicked off the light.

“Thanks,” Marinette mumbled, closing her eyes.

“Good night, Marinette. I’m sure things will feel better in the morning.”

And so, under the watchful guard of her kwami, Marinette finally fell asleep.

* * *

**MARCH 6**

When she awoke next, her windows were still pitch black. There was something odd but not unfamiliar nibbling at the edge of her consciousness; it was several seconds before she realized that it was the faint sound of music and words coming through headphones. She squinted toward her desk. Yes, there were the headphones lying on the desk, and as she had suspected, there was Tikki laying between the ear cushions.

Seeing Tikki there brought back all the memories of the previous day, along with what felt like a punch to her gut.

Marinette groped at the corner of her desk until she found her phone. It was 4:12. There were no new messages, which was slightly disappointing but not surprising.

“Marinette?” Tikki said, her voice sounding muffled and thick.

“Yeah. I’m awake,” she replied. “But you’re falling asleep.”

There was a short pause. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Marinette said in a voice a little heavier than she would have liked. She pushed off her covers and turned to dangle her feet off the edge of the bed. “I’ll get up. It’s your turn to sleep.”

Tikki didn’t argue. She was settling into her bed even before Marinette stood up.

“Good night,” Marinette whispered before closing Tikki’s drawer and switching on the lamp.

Marinette blinked in the brightness and wondered what to do with herself at such an early hour. The sensations of panic that she had felt last night had subsided, which was a definite improvement, but a cold, hard knot had settled in her stomach instead. Her arms prickled sharply, and she folded them over each other, rubbing her upper arms briskly to warm them.

She made her way to the closet, then cringed against the cold as she unfolded her arms to pull out a sweatshirt and put it over her head. Wrapping her arms around herself once more, she turned back to face the room.

The headphones were still on the desk and the movie Tikki had been watching was still playing. She moved toward her computer and turned the movie off. She unplugged the headphones and moved them toward the back of the desk.

A thought occurred to her then, quite suddenly, and she opened the top drawer, the ones where she had been keeping the pages of designs from G.A. She picked up the first page from the top and studied it carefully. She wasn’t really looking at the design, though. She traced a finger over the initials in the corner: G.A. The initials, of course, stood for Gabriel Agreste. It made so much sense now that she almost wondered how she could’ve missed it before.

She reached into the drawer and started to pull out another sketch, when something else crossed her mind. The drawings from G.A. weren’t the only things she kept in this drawer.

She pulled it open wider and reached into the back. She dug through the scattered items that had collected here over the years – a few old birthday cards, a copy of her class photograph from the previous year, an origami flower that Rose had made for her during study hall one day last year – until she found what she was looking for. Her heart skipped when she found it: the charm bracelet that Adrien had once given her. The real one, not the replica created by the Lucky Charm. She had carried that bracelet around for months. Even when she had given up on ever telling Adrien how she felt about him, she had still carried it with her. She had only put it away in the drawer when she began dating Luka.

 _Luka_.

Marinette had a sudden urge to get out of her room. She didn’t want to be alone right now.

On the floor below, she knew her parents should be awake already, preparing themselves to head down to the bakery and get ready for the morning rush. Marinette tied the bracelet around her wrist and stuck the sketch back in her drawer, easing it shut with a soft click.

Unwilling to leave Tikki behind, she opened her drawer and gently picked up the already-sleeping kwami, who shifted slightly but never opened her eyes. Marinette placed her inside the deep pocket of her sweatshirt.

She opened the trap door to her room and descended the stairs. Her parents, as she had suspected, were in the kitchen. Her father was dressed and was finishing his breakfast. Oddly, her mother was seated at the table with a steaming cup in front of her, still dressed in her pajamas.

Her mother saw her first and stood quickly. She pulled Marinette’s chair out from the table.

“Good morning dear. Have a seat. I’ll get you some breakfast.”

Marinette glanced at the clock and confirmed the time. 4:35 AM.

“You’re running late,” she observed. She sat down in her chair while her mother opened the refrigerator.

“Don’t worry,” her mother said lightly. “Your father is running a little behind but he’ll be heading down there soon.”

“What about you?” Marinette asked.

“Dad’s sure he can handle the morning rush on his own just fine today.”

“That’s right,” her father chimed in as he opened the jar of jam for his last croissant. “Your mother is getting the day off.”

“Why do you think it’s going to be a slow morning?” Marinette asked, leaning against the countertop of the kitchen and stifling a yawn.

“It’s just a feeling I have. No need to worry yourself about it.” Her father smiled at her warmly.

Marinette smiled back weakly. “Can I get the day off too?”

“From school? Of course you can, honey,” her mother said, a little too quickly. Her father looked up with a jerk of his head.

“Sabine,” he said gently. He shifted in his seat and cleared his throat as though he were going to say something difficult.

Marinette looked from one of her parents to the other, unsure of what might be happening, unsure whether she wanted to hear anything her father might find difficult to say this morning. “It’s just for this morning,” she said quickly. “I could even go back after lunch. I just want to go see Luka at the hospital.”

“Oh,” her father said. His voice sounded surprised, and he exchanged a look with her mother that told Marinette nothing. “I… yes. Yes, if you want to see Luka this morning, then of course that would be all right.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Marinette pushed her hair back from her face. “I’m going to go take a shower.” She pushed herself off the counter and turned toward the stairs.

“Marinette,” her mother called, and Marinette paused. “I’ll drive you to the hospital as soon as visiting hours begin, okay?”

Marinette turned and looked at her mother incredulously. The family car was rarely used outside of the times the bakery unexpectedly ran low on flour or sugar and had to go buy several heavy bags because it couldn’t wait until the next expected delivery. Not only that, but she knew her mother particularly hated to drive in the city.

“It’s okay,” Marinette told her. “I don’t mind walking. It’s not even two miles away.”

“Just humor your mother, Marinette,” her father called up, his voice light.

Marinette decided to just be grateful her parents had agreed to let her go so readily. “Okay,” she said. “Thank you, Mom.”

* * *

Several hours later, Marinette stepped out of the passenger seat of the car in front of L’hôpital des Saints. Her mother had not been able to find a parking spot close enough to suit her, and so finally she had just dropped Marinette off with instructions to call her for a ride home.

Marinette entered the hospital with a large, bulky bag slung easily over one shoulder and a rolled-up Jagged Stone poster under her other arm. In her arms was a box of pastries bearing the Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie logo.

The hospital lobby was open and warm, with a surprisingly modern look on the inside that stood in contrast with the older architecture of the outside. Light poured in through large, arched windows. Toward the back wall was the reception desk, where one woman sat in front of her computer. Toward the front, closer to the windows, was a small waiting room with a few rows of comfortable-looking chairs placed back-to-back. A television was mounted to one of the walls in the waiting room, currently playing a cartoon. A harassed-looking woman sat holding one cranky-looking child in her lap while another one fidgeted in the seat next to her.

Marinette approached the reception desk and rested the box of pastries on top of the counter. The woman behind the desk did not look up.

“Hello?” Marinette said with a smile. The woman behind the desk finally looked toward her with a stony expression. Marinette maintained her smile and continued. “I’m here to visit a patient but I don’t know his room number.”

“Patient’s name?” the woman asked disinterestedly.

“Luka Couffaine.”

The woman tapped at the keys, paused, then tapped again.

“And your name?” she finally asked.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

The woman pressed a few more keys. “Have a seat,” she finally said, gesturing toward the chairs. “I’ll have to check with the family.”

“Oh,” said Marinette, slightly confused. “They know I’m coming. I texted with his sister half an hour ago. I just forgot to ask the room number.”

The woman fixed Marinette with a pointed stare. “Okay, miss. Have a seat and I’ll call you.” The woman turned back to her computer screen.

Marinette picked her box of pastries up and made her way over to a chair near one of the windows. She put the bag on the floor next to her and sat in the chair, holding the pastries and the rolled-up poster on her lap.

The wait took longer than she expected. Marinette found herself watching the cartoon on the television without interest. She wondered why they were making her wait here at all, why they had to check with the family before she could go back. She wondered whether it might mean something bad about Luka. Juleka hadn’t mentioned anything when they had texted earlier. Had he taken a turn for the worse so suddenly?

She wished she could voice her concerns to someone, but she had only Tikki with her. She couldn’t risk trying to have a conversation with Tikki here where she would so easily be noticed. Besides, she was fairly certain Tikki was still asleep.

Ten minutes crawled slowly by before Marinette finally heard her name being called. She turned to see Juleka approaching her chair. She stood quickly and, leaving her things behind, walked over to meet her friend halfway.

“Juleka,” Marinette murmured, leaning forward and kissing her friend on the cheek. She pulled back and regarded Juleka closely. The one eye that wasn’t hidden by her hair was red-rimmed, and she looked exhausted.

“How are you?” she asked gently and sincerely.

Juleka mumbled a vague response. Marinette put a sympathetic hand to her friend’s shoulder briefly before she turned and made her way back to the seats to pick up her things.

“How is Luka?” she couldn’t help asking as she followed Juleka through the lobby.

“No change.”

Marinette felt a little of her tension drop away. “That can be a good thing, right?”

Juleka just nodded as she led Marinette through a door to the right. A man in a security uniform was stationed just on the other side of the door. He was sitting in a chair, half-slouching. He straightened up as the two girls entered, though, and spoke to them with authority.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said. “I’ll have to check your bag.”

Marinette looked at him, dumbfounded, unsure whether she understood. This was a hospital, not an airport.

He pointed at the bag she was carrying with an apologetic look. “Sorry. It’s a new protocol.”

Marinette opened the sack and held it out to him. He glanced inside and frowned.

“May I?” he asked, making a gesture as if he were reaching into the bag.

“Um, sure,” Marinette said. He reached in and shifted around the contents of the bag, lifted them up so that he could search underneath.

“Okay, you’re good to go,” he finally said. “Have a good day.”

Marinette looked over at Juleka. “That was weird,” she whispered. Juleka just shrugged.

With no further comment, the two girls headed toward the elevators. Juleka pushed the button and after a moment, they stepped out. Juleka led the way down a hallway before finally turning through one of the doorways that lined it.

Marinette was unsurprised to see the state of the room. The floor was littered with crumpled food wrappers.  A small duffel bag sat near the entrance, sticking out partially into the doorway. Its zipper was open, and polka-dotted fabric hung halfway out and trailed on the floor. Marinette nudged it aside with her foot as she entered.

A vase on a countertop had been toppled over; its flowers were strewn about the table and floor. Marinette tried to be inconspicuous as she moved her head to look at the counter from different angles, looking for water that she might need to clean up – also inconspicuously – before she left.

Luka’s mother, a middle-aged woman with red-rimmed glasses and gray hair that framed a relatively youthful face, sat in a chair in the corner reading a book. She looked up as the girls approached. Marinette briefly wondered, not for the first time, how Anarka would be doing. She wasn’t sure whether to expect the woman to be reserved or withdrawn, sad or anxious.

“Hello, Marinette,” the woman said with her usual lilting brogue and, for the most part, its normal pleasant tone. She closed the book and smiled at her as she stood. Marinette instantly felt a little more relaxed.

“Hello, Anarka,” Marinette said. Luka’s mother insisted that she be called by her first name; Marinette had long since given up trying to call her anything else.

“It’s good to see you, lass. Thank you for coming.” She might’ve been welcoming Marinette to a party on her boat.

Marinette tried to smile back, but then her eyes drifted over to the bed in the middle of the room. Luka lay there silently and Marinette felt her stomach do a little flip. There were machines next to his bed that beeped and hummed softly. A blanket covered him up to his chest. His arms and hands were covered, leaving only his neck and head exposed in a slightly unsettling way.

Marinette remembered, then, how it had felt when she realized she couldn’t help him yesterday. She suddenly longed to go to his side, to move his arms out from under the sheets, to kiss his face and his lips and his hair.

She heard Anarka clear her throat, and Marinette’s eyes snapped guiltily back to Anarka. She scrambled for something to say, which seemed to be the polite thing to do.

As if she could read Marinette’s mind, Anarka smiled, amused. “It’s all right,” she said. “Set your things down and go to him.”

Marinette nodded with relief and set her bag on the floor and put the rolled-up poster on the counter near the vase. She handed the box of pastries to Anarka.

“These are from my parents. They send their condolences. Mom says they’ll send you more anytime you want.”

“Tell them how much we appreciate it,” Anarka said easily. She opened the box and held it toward Juleka. “Juleka, would you like one?”

Marinette crossed over to stand by Luka’s bed, near his head. Even with Juleka’s and Anarka’s attention diverted toward the eclairs and macarons, she felt suddenly shy standing so near to him like this, and she couldn’t keep from blushing. She swallowed against her sudden awkwardness, then reached out her hand and gently ran her fingers over a lock of his hair.

She glanced over at Juleka and Anarka, who were still studying the box of pastries with more intensity than was probably strictly necessary.

The door suddenly swung open and all three of their heads came up abruptly at the sudden intrusion. Marinette’s fingers slid quickly away from Luka’s hair and came to rest lightly on his shoulder. She expected to see a nurse. Instead, it was another man in a security uniform.

“Ah, excuse me. Is it…” he looked down at his clipboard, “Ms. Couffaine?” He glanced between Marinette, Anarka, and Juleka.

“That’d be me,” Anarka answered. Her voice had just the barest edge of hardness to it, and Marinette noticed that she didn’t bother to invite him to use her first name.

“I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am. We’re coming around to all the rooms to brief our patients and their families on new security measures that we’re implementing effective immediately. Evacuation procedures, lockdown procedures…” He waved his hand as though trying to be reassuring. “They really aren’t _new_. We’ve had them in place before. We’ve just let them lapse recently, and it’s time to get back in those habits, you know?”

Anarka continued to stare at him rather stone-faced. The man seemed slightly flustered. He looked down at his clipboard and busied himself with pulling a couple of papers out of it, then handed them to her.

“I apologize again for the interruption,” he said hurriedly. “I’ll just leave these papers with you. They explain everything. I’ll come back later to answer any questions you have when your visitor is gone. Good day, ma’am.” He disappeared hurriedly through the door.

“Procedures,” Anarka muttered. “Just another fancy name for _rules_.” She tossed the papers carelessly onto the counter nearby. They slid halfway across the smooth surface until they hit the vase, then ricocheted off and fell to the floor. They skidded to a halt near the bag that Marinette had brought in earlier. Nobody bent to pick them up.

An awkward silence followed. Marinette, her hand still on Luka’s shoulder, she turned to look at Anarka and Juleka.

“The doctors ran some tests yesterday evening, didn’t they? Did they tell you anything more?”

“They ran more tests, aye. But they didn’t really tell us anything new. The doctors say he seems fine, aside from the fact that he’s unconscious,” Anarka replied. “There’s no evidence in their scans of internal bleeding or damage of a permanent kind. We’ll have to wait for him to wake up before they’ll have a better idea of what we’ll be going on with.”

“And when will that be? When is he going to wake up?”

“Ah,” Anarka said. She laid aside the pastry box and exchanged a glance with Juleka. “They don’t rightly know. The sooner the better is what they said.”

Marinette’s head shot up. “You mean, they don’t _know_ when he’s going to wake up?”

“Or if,” Juleka murmured.

Marinette struggled for a moment with her own racing thoughts and emotions before she could speak. When the words finally came out, she could hear that her own voice sounded slightly strangled. “Oh. I’m… I’m so sorry.”

“It’ll be okay, lass,” Anarka said, her voice firm. “My Luka’s a strong boy. He’ll wake up when he’s ready.”

“Of course,” Marinette said quickly. “Of course he will.”

Another silence followed. She squeezed Luka’s shoulder as though he could feel it, then left his side. She bent down and reached inside the bag she had brought, producing a roll of tape. She pulled off a piece, which stuck to her finger as she picked up the Jagged Stone poster and began to unroll it.

“I brought this from my house.  I thought Luka might like to see it when he woke up,” she explained as she began to tape the poster up to a blank spot on the wall.

Juleka moved forward to help her hold the paper steady while Marinette pulled another piece of tape off the roll. “He’ll love it,” she murmured.

Once the poster was hung, Marinette placed the tape on the counter and turned back to her bag. “I brought you shawls, too. I knitted them last winter.”

She pulled two of the bulky garments from the bag and handed one to Anarka and the other to Juleka. “Hospitals can get so cold sometimes.”

“How lovely,” Anarka said.

Juleka wrapped hers around her shoulders. It was bubble-gum pink – not usually Juleka’s color, Marinette knew, but she murmured her appreciation sincerely.

“It’s my pleasure,” Marinette said as she folded up the now-empty bag. She picked up the roll of tape, then fidgeted with it for a moment instead of placing it in her purse. Anarka was probably three times her age, and Marinette wasn’t sure it would be appropriate to ask the question she was thinking. Then again, Anarka was less bothered by social norms than other women her age. So she took a chance.

“How _are_ you doing? Really?” she asked in a low voice. “I mean, you don’t seem to be very bothered.” She winced. That didn’t sound quite right. “Not that I think you’re _supposed_ to seem bothered. I mean, of course you would be bothered. This is really upsetting. But I’m not sure…” Marinette trailed off.

Anarka chuckled. “I understand your meaning, lass. I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t one of the hardest things I’ve ever faced. But as a rule, I don’t cry when I’m sailing through rough waters. It’s awfully hard to navigate with your eyes full of tears.” She looked at Marinette and there was something almost like a twinkle in her eye. “Yesterday was messy, no doubt about it. But messiness is life. And that’s more than just a philosophy about creativity or housecleaning, you know.”

* * *

Marinette stayed for a few minutes longer, but there was little else to say or do, and she knew her mother would be waiting to pick her up. Anarka and Juleka assured her that they were fine and that there wasn’t anything else Marinette could do for them right now.

As Marinette made her way back to the lobby, she texted her mother to let her know she was ready to go.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Wait inside the hospital,” her mother replied.

In the lobby waiting room, the woman and children who had been sitting there earlier were gone. A man was sitting in there now, and the cartoon had been replaced by a news program.

Marinette had just sat down and started to pull out her phone when she was distracted by the sound of a familiar name.

“…Ladybug and Chat Noir are out there. I haven’t heard of any threat, anyway. And even if there were one, I’m sure they’re going to handle it, just like they did with Hawk Moth.”

Marinette stiffened and glanced up at the television from which the words had come. Onscreen was a young man, probably a few years older than Marinette herself. He was looking slightly off camera, in the direction of an off-screen interviewer who held a microphone toward him. He wore thick glasses and smiled in what seemed to be a slightly self-conscious manner. Marinette could see the straps of a backpack over his shoulders. Behind him was a wide grassy area, and beyond that were several large buildings that were undoubtedly part of a university.

A faceless voice spoke over the video feed then, speaking in the clipped, scripted style. “But not all Parisians share these sentiments.”

The video switched then to a black-haired woman with a red wool coat standing in front of an apartment building. Now she was the one with the microphone near her face, and she smiled a little too widely as she talked. “There are all kinds of bad things happening, and Ladybug hasn’t fixed anything yet. I have two young babies upstairs to think about, and I just can’t be taking risks right now. So, no. I’m headed to my house and will stay there until… you know. If Ladybug wants to come out and tell us what we’re facing then maybe that will change things. I’m hoping that we’ll get some answers here in the next day or two.”

An off-screen voice mumbled something that Marinette couldn’t hear, and the woman in the red wool coat replied. “Yeah. Yeah, some reassurance. Some reassurance would be nice.”

“Back to you, Antoine,” the reporter finished, and the image of the anchorman sitting at the desk came on the screen, a still shot of Ladybug swinging through the air displayed behind him.

“Thank you, Clara. We will be following this story closely and will air updates as they come.”

The newscast paused for a commercial break. Out of habit, Marinette flicked her eyes toward her purse and discovered that Tikki was awake and was now peering up at her with solemn, questioning eyes. It was still too exposed in here for Marinette to try to have a conversation with her. Marinette shifted in her seat uncomfortably.

A lot of things suddenly made sense now. The security protocols at the hospital, her mother’s insistence that she drive Marinette to the hospital, even her father’s odd assurance that the bakery would have a slow morning – these were reactions to Ladybug’s reappearance. Of course they were. She should have realized that people might not take it well if she were to show up in uniform all of a sudden with no clear explanation.

Marinette stifled a groan. She wished she had thought of this possibility sooner, although she had to admit she wasn’t sure what she could have done any differently. But either way, the fact remained that she had a problem. Paris’ well-being was in her hands, a sacred responsibility that she had taken on at the same time that she had taken on the mantle of Ladybug. And now she had accidentally damaged that well-being.

It was her responsibility to put this right.

For one brief moment, she wished she didn’t have to spend time or energy worrying about this. She had quite enough on her plate for the moment.

She firmly chased that thought out of her mind with a small, silent chastisement. Regardless of whether she wanted it or not, this was part of her duty to Paris. And life was a mess at the moment, but then messiness was life.

Besides, making this right didn’t have to be a big deal. A simple press conference to reassure the people could go a long way. She could have this resolved by bedtime.

She pulled out her phone and opened a private browser on her phone. She logged into an email account that she had opened for Ladybug several years ago.

She hadn’t been on this account for several months. As per her habit, she deleted all the new emails she had received. Reporters sent her questions here all the time, but she had made it a policy that she never answered them. She only used it to communicate to the media and other relevant organizations, and the content of her messages was strictly limited to press conference notifications or the occasional generic press release.

With a few quick taps, she started a new message to all her media contacts plus one of the mayor’s office administrators. A few more taps and she had composed her message: “Press conference. Tonight at 9 on the front steps of City Hall.” One more tap and the message was sent.

She glanced down at her bag again. Tikki was looking at her with a very concerned expression. Marinette smiled in what she hoped was an encouraging way.

***

Marinette’s mother didn’t even question her when she asked if she could skip school for the rest of the day. But when they got back to the bakery, her father was a little more concerned.

“Sweetheart,” he’d said gently, “it all depends on _why_ you want to stay home. I know a lot of people are worried about Ladybug’s reappearance, but our superheroes have earned our trust. It’s up to us to show our support, and the best way we can do that is to keep living our lives as normally as possible.”

“I agree!” Marinette replied, almost too eagerly. She stopped and tempered her voice. “I’m not scared about Ladybug being back, Dad. That’s not why I want to stay home. But yesterday was such a hard day for me, and I didn’t sleep very well last night.” She looked up at him with the widest eyes she could muster. “I’ll go back to school tomorrow, I _promise_.”

So Marinette had stayed home, or at least that’s what her parents thought.

In all fairness, she had _intended_ to stay home. But almost as soon as she reached her room, her phone chimed and she picked it up. It was a news notification about a breaking update in the Adrien Agreste case. Marinette read the attached article and quickly picked out the new information: a substantial withdrawal had been made from Adrien’s bank account in the early hours of Monday morning, after he had last been seen. The withdrawal had happened at a bank in the 16 th arrondissement.

“16th arrondissement?” Marinette wondered aloud.

“What would Adrien be doing in the 16th arrondissement?” Tikki wondered. “That’s on the other side of the city.”

“I should go there to look for him,” Marinette said, standing up.

“Now? Don’t you think your parents are going to notice you’re missing?”

“I told them I didn’t sleep well last night. I think the pillows under the blanket trick will work this time.”

As she arranged one of the pillows on the bed, the charm bracelet on her wrist suddenly came undone and landed with a soft plop on her mattress, reminding her of the conversation she hadn’t had with Tikki yet. She picked the bracelet up and began tying it back on her wrist.

“Tikki, remember last night? How I still had the charm bracelet from my previous transformation? Is it normal for an unused Lucky Charm to persist like that?”

“Only if it’s still useful.”

“Useful how, I wonder?” Marinette mused as she went back to arranging her pillow. “But I guess that means I need to carry it around with me. I can’t keep wearing it on Ladybug’s wrist though. Remember how it never stays tied?”

Tikki nodded. “What if we added a pocket to your costume for you to keep it in? One with a zipper?”

Marinette raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Where would we add a zipper on a skintight suit?”

“That’s true. You could make more drastic changes to the whole costume. Loosen it up a bit, add a cape or something.”

“No,” Marinette said firmly. “I should be the Ladybug that Paris remembers right now.” She pulled her blankets up over the pillows.

“Maybe just a small pocket, then. We could add a little bit of padding so that it doesn’t look so lumpy. And we could put it on your hip, right under your yo-yo. That would at least keep it hidden when you’re standing still.”

In the end, Marinette agreed to that suggestion, and when she transformed, she had a small, flat pouch that sat right underneath the clip where she kept her yo-yo, just as Tikki had described. She removed the Lucky Charm and carefully put it into the pocket, then zipped it and pressed her fingers against it, testing the way it felt and assuring herself that it was secure before taking off.

She spent the rest of the afternoon searching for Adrien. She’d started toward the 16th arrondissement, of course, but she quickly realized that it might make her motive too easily guessed if she searched only that part of Paris. So although she couldn’t resist going to the 16th arrondissement first, she ended up spending equal amounts of time in the 18th and 13th arrondissements as well, plus additional time in other locations around the city, before she returned home.

By then, it was dinner time. Her father was absent from the table.

“He saw that Ladybug is going to give a press conference this evening,” her mother explained with a smile. “He’s sure that all our customers will be back tomorrow morning, so he’s preparing the bakery now so that he can get to bed early.”

Marinette nodded and ate quickly, then retreated to her room where she finally began on her statement.

“Marinette, what exactly _are_ you going to say at this press conference?” Tikki asked as Marinette pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil.

“I just want to tell people that they’re safe.”

“Yes, but safe from what?”

“Safe from…” She paused. She had been about to say “safe from Chat Noir,” but it sounded strange. Hollow somehow. And she _definitely_ couldn’t say that at the press conference, anyway.

“Tikki, what _am_ I going to say?” she wondered aloud. “I want to make the people of Paris feel safe, but I can’t explain what I’m doing here. How can I convince them that they’re safe if I can’t even explain what they’re safe from?”

Tikki was quiet for a moment while Marinette started scribbling notes at the top of her paper. Finally, she spoke.

“Why _are_ you going out as Ladybug now?” Tikki asked.

“I want to find Adrien and make sure he’s okay. And I want to find out from him what happened at the school.”

“And you’re sure he isn’t going to hurt anyone?”

“It’s Adrien, Tikki. I’m _sure_.” Marinette said nothing about Tikki’s standing guard the previous night, and Tikki seemed to choose not to mention it either.

“Then why not just tell people the truth? That you’re looking for Adrien?”

“Master Fu still wants our identities to be kept secret, remember? It’s way too suspicious for Ladybug to be suddenly involved in a missing person's case.”

Tikki didn’t have an immediate response, and Marinette threw herself down in her chair and stared at her paper. She thought about her appearance at the school, and about Ladybug having taken Chloé to her father’s office. She’d have to figure out a way to explain those things, too.

Some time later, she had some words written down, but nothing close to a speech. Notes were scribbled at the top of the page: _Arrived at LL around 1:20 PM_ , _Patrolled from 8 until midnight_ , _Seen with Chloé? Around 2:15 PM?_ Then down the margins of the paper: _Stage collapse at LL, AA missing, HM, akumas?_

And in the middle of the paper, she had exactly one sentence written: _I’m speaking to you today to assure you that Paris safe._

There was a soft knock on her trap door, and then it eased open. Her mother poked her head in from below.

“Good night, dear. Your father and I are headed to bed.”

Marinette glanced at the clock, shocked. It was 7:45. She’d have to leave for the press conference in an hour, and that was if she pushed it to the last possible moment.

She bid her mother a hurried goodnight, and as the trapdoor lowered shut, she let out a strangled moan.

“You know,” Tikki said thoughtfully, “maybe you were on to something earlier today when you said it was important to be the Ladybug that people remember.”

“Huh?”

“Well, people felt relatively safe when you were fighting against Hawk Moth, but it wasn’t because they knew who Hawk Moth was and what he was doing. They felt safe because they trusted Ladybug to put things right after Hawk Moth messed them up. You exuded confidence and capability. You can tap into those qualities again without compromising any of your secrets.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, maybe you could focus your speech less on explaining what you’re doing, and instead assure people that you’re ready and able to protect them. That’s really the whole goal of the press conference, right?”

“But aren’t people going to want to know why I’m back?”

“Of course,” Tikki said, “but you haven’t come up with a satisfactory answer to give them, and you’re running out of time.”

Marinette straightened up in her chair and stared down for a moment at her blank paper, her mind racing with Tikki’s suggestion. She imagined herself speaking not to _inform_ the citizens about her return, but to reignite their faith in her. The words began putting themselves together effortlessly in her head. Before she could lose them, she hunched over her paper and began scribbling fiercely.

In fifteen minutes, she was done. She read it over and was relieved that she didn’t see any glaring problems. She read it once to Tikki, who gave her approval.

“You were right, Tikki,” she said. “This is going to work!” She checked the clock. It may not be the greatest statement she had ever given, and it could probably stand a little polishing if she had more time, but at least it was something.

* * *

One nice thing about Marinette’s superhero status was that she didn’t have to make a lot of preparations to put on a conference. She didn’t give them very often, but when she did, all she had to do was inform her contacts at City Hall, and they took care of the rest.

When she arrived for the conference, she was pleased to see that this held true even with as short of notice as she had given them today. Everything was already set up for her. There was a podium at the top of the steps. Temporary lighting had been set up to shine toward the podium from several different angles, enough to ensure decent photography and videography for the event. A row of chairs was set up behind the podium, facing the audience. She wasn’t given a say in who used those chairs, although to be fair she hadn’t ever asked for one. The chairs were always filled by government officials – the police chief and Mayor Bourgeois were staples.

There was a barrier tape set up at the bottom of the stairs to keep reporters from climbing the stairs toward the podium. Security personnel stood just on the other side of the tape, spaced approximately every eight feet. They looked a little more apprehensive than usual; in the past, Marinette would see them chatting to each other somewhat casually before the event began, but this time, they were silent, hands folded in front of them and staring out into the not-unimpressive group of reporters who were awaiting Ladybug.

Marinette stood at the top of the steps, off to one side, next to the City Hall administrator who coordinated these events. The woman was tall and thin. She was always well organized and spoke in neat, clipped sentences. She was not exactly unfriendly, but she never seemed to show much emotion. Marinette was always reminded of Gabriel Agreste’s one-time assistant whenever she dealt with her.

The administrator briskly talked her through the expectations for the event. Marinette would be told when she should approach the podium, which would be precisely at 9:00PM. She would give her prepared statement, after which the reporters would ask questions, probably whether Marinette welcomed them or not. There was a soft time limit of 45 minutes for the event; Marinette would be expected to wrap it up by then.

Marinette nodded at all the appropriate places. None of this was new to her.

When the briefing was completed, the administrator left briskly to attend to some other detail, and Marinette re-read through her statement.

There were butterflies in her stomach about this conference, something that she wasn’t exactly used to dealing with. Public speaking wasn’t exactly her _favorite_ part of the superhero gig, but she had never felt shy in front of her audience before.

The lack of preparation was only a minor problem. Much more pressing were the circumstances and the complexity of what she was trying to do. It was much simpler when the issues were more clear-cut: Hawk Moth was the villain who was terrorizing Paris; Ladybug and Chat Noir were the heroes who saved the city.

She wondered whether it might help to _pretend_ that this was happening years ago, back when she was fighting Hawk Moth.  

She clutched the paper with her written statement tightly and closed her eyes. She remembered herself standing in front of an enormous likeness of Hawk Moth created by akumas. She remembered Hawk Moth telling her that she and Chat Noir were responsible for the damage he’d caused to the city. She clenched the paper tighter as she remembered her confidence and clarity of mind that day: she and Chat Noir weren’t the villains, they were the _heroes_.

It helped a little.

Marinette suddenly became aware of movement behind her, and she realized it was the City Hall administrator. “It’s time,” the woman murmured.

Marinette nodded. The seats behind the podium were now occupied by the mayor and some other officials that she couldn’t have named if she tried. She took a deep breath and stepped toward the podium. When she got there, she laid down the paper with her speech written on it. She adjusted the microphone toward her mouth. A hush fell over the crowd.

She surveyed the sea of faces and cameras in front of her, near the bottom of the steps. It wasn’t _just_ reporters and camera operators out there, of course. There were others too. Marinette picked out Alya from the crowd below, her phone held high above the heads of the people in front of her. There were other avid fans, identified by their handmade signs and banners with pro-Ladybug slogans. Curious onlookers were there too, either holding their own phones up to take videos or simply standing there observing, hands jammed into their pockets, with grim faces. There were significantly fewer of these non-media types than there had been at some of her past press conferences.

Marinette cleared her throat and again recalled Hawk Moth’s akuma-created likeness.

“People of Paris,” she began. “As you all doubtlessly know, I have made some appearances around Paris within the last couple of days. I was seen at Lycée Leroux in the aftermath of an incident in the auditorium that involved a collapsed stage. I've also been seen doing patrol work around the city both last night and, most recently, this afternoon.

“I know for some people, it's exciting to see me back in action after nearly a year in retirement. However, I'm also aware that some people are concerned because they don't know why I'm back or whether there is some sort of threat such as Hawk Moth, who used to attack random citizens with his akumas. I'd like to address these very real fears.

“I can confirm what has been suggested, that I'm back because of a specific case. However, I can't comment on any of the particulars about that case at this time. I know that you may have hoped to get more information, and I wish that I could tell you more. But I want to assure you that I don't believe the threat to Paris is significant.”

As she spoke, Marinette felt herself start to relax into her speech. She could hear the tone of her voice taking on strength and confidence; she could feel her mouth turned up in a smile. She looked up from her paper at her audience.

They stared up at her with rapt attention, their expressions were tense and expectant.

The next section of her speech, as it was written on her paper, was meant to clarify what had just been said, about how she didn’t expect that people would be randomly targeted as in the days of Hawk Moth. But she was following her gut now, and her gut was telling her that she needed to cut to the chase. Tikki was right. These people didn’t need the limited explanations she could give right now. They needed Ladybug’s confidence.

She pictured Hawk Moth again and skipped down to the end of the speech, quickly making up a bridge between her last statement and the next on the fly.

“But even if it were, I want to assure each of you that I stand ready to fight in your defense. I'm not afraid. I’ll repeat the promise I made to you when I—”

A small voice erupted unexpectedly from the crowd below. “Ladybug!”

Marinette looked up, surprised. She could see that there was a disturbance somewhere from the middle of the crowd, a little left of center, though what it was she couldn’t tell. Several people in the area shifted and parted, though, creating a little ripple in the crowd. They looked down at something that moving at their feet.

The disturbance seemed to be moving in a trajectory toward the front of the crowd. People continued to step aside for it, looking down. Marinette heard the small voice cry Ladybug’s name again, followed by another voice that loudly hissed, “ _Manon!_ ”

And just then, two people at the very front of the crowd stepped apart and there she was. Six-year-old Manon, Nadja Chumack’s daughter and Marinette’s occasional babysitting charge, was at the front of the crowd with bright little eyes locked eagerly on Marinette. “Ladybug!”

She didn’t stay at the front of the crowd for long, though. She moved like a bullet, now that she was no longer hindered. The two security personnel that were closest to her both lunged to catch her, but Manon was too quick. Without ever realizing they were there, she ducked under the barrier tape and sprinted out of their reach, up the stairs toward Marinette.

“Ladybug!”

“Manon!”

This second cry came from Nadja, of course, who by now had managed to push her way to the front of the crowd too. Now Nadja was standing in front of the barrier tape, although she was either too rule-abiding or too dignified to duck under it as Manon had done. She wore an expression that looked like she couldn’t decide whether to continue calling her child’s name sternly and ineffectually or to melt into the pavement with embarrassment.

Marinette could not help but grin. Manon’s happy, joyful face was an unexpected breath of fresh air, and Marinette was not for one moment flustered by it. She stepped smoothly away from the podium and squatted down, catching Manon under her outstretched arms as the little girl flung herself toward her. Marinette hoisted her into the air and settled her deftly onto her hip. Manon giggled with glee.

Marinette looked back into the audience and now she saw small smiles on some of the faces. A murmur ran through the crowd; some of the huddled groups that waved Ladybug banners openly laughed. Nadja Chumack’s expression was softening from one of abject horror to one of only mild mortification mixed with unrestrained appreciation for Ladybug’s unperturbed reaction.

Marinette smiled back at the audience with a completely unforced smile. She didn’t even have to look down at her paper to remember her last few lines. They were definitely her strongest.

“I’ll repeat the promise I made to you when I first took up the fight against Hawk Moth: I will stand and fight and do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

A small cheer erupted, then, from one of the huddled groups that waved a Ladybug banner, and Manon squealed, “Yay!”

Marinette smiled and lowered Manon back to the ground. “You’d better run back to your mom, little princess,” she said with a wink.

“I’m not a princess,” Manon said, making a face. “I’m a pony!” But she turned and trotted down the stairs to her mother, who grasped her hand firmly and disappeared back into the crowd.

Marinette turned her attention back to the audience. Some were still staring after Manon; some were snapping photos of Ladybug. The mood had definitely lifted now. It felt very much like old times.

“I’ll take questions now,” Marinette announced.

Hands were raised and voices jockeyed for her recognition. Marinette pointed to someone from the crowd.

"Ladybug, what about Chat Noir? Is he going to assist you with this case?"

She had prepared for this question and she had a ready answer. "As you know, Chat Noir retired at the same time I did last year. I am not in contact with him at this time, and so I am unaware of what he plans to do."

Marinette pointed again.

"Ladybug, who, exactly, is at risk in your new case? Will all Paris residents be potential targets from this new threat the way they were from Hawk Moth?"

"I’m glad you asked that.” She was, since she had skipped that section of her speech. “No, I don't believe that random citizens will be targeted as in the days of Hawk Moth. I mean it when I say Parisian citizens can rest easy knowing that they are safe."

She pointed to Alya next.

"Ladybug, how did you come to know about the stage collapse at Lycée Leroux? Do you frequently spend time in that area of Paris?" Alya was fishing for a detail that might help narrow down Ladybug’s identity, of course.

"I can't answer that directly.” Marinette thought quickly, and then added, “But if you recall, Paris' excellent emergency workers were headed toward the scene very soon after the event occurred, so it was clear that something had happened there."

She pointed again.

"Ladybug, do you know anything about the recent disappearance of Adrien Agreste? Was he a target in the case you are working on, and have you been hired by his estate to search for him?"

Marinette found her mental image of Hawk Moth slipping ever so slightly, trying to morph into one with blond hair and green eyes. She swallowed hard and forced the blond and green away. "No, to my knowledge Adrien was not a target, and I have not been in contact with the Agreste estate."

"Ladybug, please tell us why you were seen carrying Chloé Bourgeois around town yesterday afternoon."

"For privacy reasons, I won't answer that directly. All I can say is that at the time, it seemed urgent for Miss Bourgeois to confer with her father immediately, and I was able to assist in making that happen."

"Ladybug, is there a new person of interest you’re after? And if so, if you could send a message to that person, what would it be?"

And then the mental image of Hawk Moth fell completely and all she could see was Adrien’s face. Her mouth went dry. What _would_ she say to Adrien? _What’s going on? What were you thinking? How can I help?_

Her fingers dropped without thought to her hip, hidden behind the podium. She slipped them under the yo-yo, where she could just barely feel the charm bracelet beads beneath the padding of the pocket.

With a start, she remembered where she was and what she was doing. Her mouth, she realized, was hanging part-way open, and she slammed it shut as her eyes found the young reporter who had asked her the question. He stared up at her expectantly.

“I, uh—” She felt her cheeks start to flush, and she was thankful for the cool evening air and a small gust of wind that suddenly blew. She tried to restore the image of Hawk Moth to her mind, but those green eyes and that blond hair would not be blotted out this time. “I, uh—I can’t comment at this time. Due to—Due to the nature of the case,” she stammered. “I’m out of time for questions. Thank you for attending. Bug out.”

And then with practiced precision, she fired her yo-yo, anchored onto a railing far above the audience’s confused faces and still-raised hands, and swung away into the night.

* * *

Adrien leapt out of the passageway and landed lightly on his feet in the room below. He dropped a paper sack on the ground before letting his transformation drop. Plagg flew out of the ring and fell to the floor melodramatically while letting out a piteous groan.

Adrien ignored him and picked up the paper sack, placing it on the table near the front of the room. He began pulling out apples and bananas with both hands, placing them carefully on the table in front of him.

Plagg, who, upon being ignored, had picked himself off the ground, now dove headfirst into the bag muttering, “Where’d the cheese go?”

Adrien reached in and scooped him out of the bag. “Not yet, Plagg. I have to count everything first.”

Plagg rolled his eyes. “Come on. You’re not _really_ going to pay the school back for this stuff, are you?”

Adrien ignored Plagg and instead busied himself with finding blank space on one of the pages of his old notebook of prospective Ladybugs. He found some space on the page that featured Jeanne Dubois, the 87-year-old deceased woman. _Yeah, she definitely wasn’t Ladybug_ , he thought bitterly.

He picked up a pencil and carefully wrote “Apples – 8”. He looked up and reached over to pick up a bunch of bananas.

“Count the _cheese_ next,” Plagg implored.

“I’ll get to that soon,” Adrien said, attempting to inject more patience into his voice than he actually felt.

“I’m famished! I’m _dying_! I’m wasting away.” Plagg collapsed dramatically on top of Adrien’s notebook page.

“Oh, fine. Have _one_ wedge.” He reached in the bag and pulled out a piece of brie, then tossed it to Plagg. The kwami moved swiftly to catch it in his mouth and swallowed it without hardly bothering to chew.

In the quiet that followed, Adrien wrote, “Bananas – 6.” He reached into the bag and pulled out a loaf of bread.

When he turned back to his book, he caught sight of Plagg floating downward to rest just behind the open book. His paws were cupped together, empty, and he held them up toward Adrien with a pathetic expression on his face. “Please, sir, can I have some more?”

“No,” Adrien bellowed, “not until I’m done. Go find something else to do.”

“There’s nothing else _to_ do. Let me have your phone so I can watch something.”

Adrien put a protective hand over his pocket where his phone was tucked away. “No.”

Plagg narrowed his eyes. “Why? What do _you_ need it for? You’re not going to go checking up on the Ladyblog again, are you?”

“ _No_.” Adrien knew better than to try to discuss this topic again. Plagg had made it clear that he didn’t want anything to do with Adrien’s wish to confront Ladybug face-to-face. It was a problem that Adrien hadn’t quite figured out how to address yet because he knew he would need Plagg’s cooperation to make it happen. Only Plagg, after all, could transform him into Chat Noir. What would Adrien do if Plagg refused?

Plagg was still hovering over Adrien, his eyes flicking disapprovingly toward the Ladybug book that Adrien was currently using for his ledger.

Adrien sighed. “Go take a nap. I promise I’ll wake you up when it’s time to eat again.”

Plagg lifted his eyes and crossed his arms. “One more wedge,” he said firmly. “One more wedge and then I’ll leave you alone.”

Adrien sighed and pulled another piece of brie out of the bag and held it out. Plagg snatched it from his hand and zoomed to the armchair, where he curled up with the cheese next to him and then, as a sign of great restraint, he took a bite that actually left a little more cheese outside of his mouth than inside it.

Adrien turned back and took the rest of the food out of the bag. The majority of it was cheese wedges. There were _so many_ cheese wedges, and this was _after_ he had compromised with Plagg about the amount of cheese he was willing to take from the kitchens at a single time lest the action drew suspicion.

Adrien counted the wedges twice for accuracy, remembering to add two for the ones Plagg had already eaten. He wrote on his list: “Brie wedges – 30”.

He looked over at Plagg. His cheese wedge was gone, of course, and he was curled up on the chair with his eyes closed. Was he asleep already? Adrien checked the time: it was 8:45 PM.

Adrien could barely believe his luck. He started to pull his phone from his pocket when suddenly the kwami rolled over onto his back with a loud sigh. “Can you at least put on a cheese-making video to listen to?” he asked, cracking his eyes open.

Adrien hastily shoved the phone back in his pocket. “Quiet, Plagg. You promised.”

Plagg sighed and took up a more comfortable position on the couch, his eyes closed once again.

His accounting was done shortly thereafter, and Adrien was left with time to kill. He flipped idly through the pages slowly without really seeing them. He didn’t need to. He really didn’t care exactly _who_ Ladybug was, not at the moment. He just cared that he didn’t already know, that she had never bothered to reach out to him or track him down in all this time. He was _Adrien Agreste_ , after all. He wouldn’t have been hard for her to track down, not if the steady trickle of fan mail that he still received months after ending his modeling career was any guide.

And then there was her choice in boyfriends. That had been Luka down there with Ladybug, Adrien was sure of it, though the fact that Luka was kissing on Ladybug when he was supposed to be dating Marinette was a matter of concern.

He’d deal with that too, eventually. Marinette deserved to know that he had seen Luka with Ladybug, if she didn’t know already.

Adrien paused and frowned slightly. _Were_ Luka and Marinette still dating? He tried to remember when the last time was that she had mentioned him. Now that he thought about it, she’d always been a little tight-lipped about her relationship with Luka, at least around him. He wasn’t sure how long it would take for him to find out if they _weren’t_ dating anymore.

Adrien checked the time again. It was 8:58. He stole a glance at Plagg. His eyes were closed again, but that wasn’t proof of anything. Adrien picked up a wedge of the brie and stretched out his arm toward Plagg, waving his hand over the cheese to encourage its scent to travel in the kwami’s direction. Plagg didn’t stir.

Adrien very quietly stood and walked as far away from Plagg as he could within the confines of the room. He opened the Ladyblog, which had promised that it would be live-streaming Ladybug’s press conference at 9:00. With a few taps, he found himself looking at a video of an empty podium.

He slowly eased the volume up from its muted position. There didn’t seem to be anything to hear yet. He eased the volume back down. He glanced nervously at Plagg, wishing he had headphones, but the kwami still hadn’t moved. Adrien slowly lowered himself into a sitting position, his back against the stack of gym mats.

He didn’t have to wait very long before he saw Ladybug approach the podium. He eased the volume up again slowly, and soon he could hear Ladybug’s voice. He held the phone as close to his ear as he could while still able to see the screen. He could just barely make out her words.

“ _…made some appearances around Paris within the last couple of days. I was seen at Lycée Leroux…_ ”

She continued talking about her recent appearances, and Adrien listened carefully to see what she would say about her experience at the school. He had already heard that she was seen at the school and that she was focused on the auditorium. He took this to mean that if she didn’t already _know_ he was involved, she either suspected it or would soon.

 “… _I can confirm what has been suggested, that I'm back because of a specific case._ _However, I can't comment on any of the particulars about that case at this time…_ ”

So this _was_ about him. Adrien was pretty sure of it now. Ladybug would want to keep that hidden from the public for as long as possible. The superheroes’ image had always been important to her. As much as she might not actually care about him as Chat Noir or otherwise, casting him in a bad light might cause damage her image, too…

“… _But I want to assure you that I don't believe the threat to Paris is significant._ ”

Adrien’s jaw dropped then, and he felt like she might as well have just slapped him in the face. He wondered whether he might have just misheard her. How could she say that the threat to Paris was not significant? She was talking about _Chat Noir_ , who literally wielded the power of destruction.

He didn’t have time to think about it any longer. Just at that moment, an unexpectedly loud sound came from the video. The image wobbled, as though the camera operator had momentarily lost control or the camera itself had been pushed. There were a few surprised noises – they sounded nearer to the microphone than Ladybug herself – and then several voices yelling.

Adrien scrambled to mute the sound on the phone, but he reacted far too slowly.

“Hey, you’re watching something,” came Plagg’s reproachful voice. “You didn’t even offer to let me watch too.”

“It’s private,” Adrien said, trying to hide the screen from Plagg, swat Plagg away, and still keep an eye on the video, all at the same time.

Plagg seemed far too amused by this answer. He dodged easily, flying upward to get in a position where he could see the screen. “Come on, I’m thousands of years old and I promise I’ve seen it all. What are you watching?”

“It’s nothing!” Adrien was still fumbling to mute the phone, to stop the video, to do anything to keep Plagg from figuring it out.

He was too late. Ladybug’s voice picked up again. Adrien could not focus on what she was saying at all.

“Is that Ladybug’s press conference? You said you weren’t going to watch it.”

“Shh! I’m trying to listen!”

“Don’t watch it, Adrien. It’s only going to get you upset again.” Plagg was relentless, zipping around Adrien, getting between Adrien and his phone, talking over Ladybug’s voice so that Adrien couldn’t hear.

“Plagg!” Adrien swatted in Plagg’s direction again and missed.

“Adrien, I really don’t think—”

“Plagg! Sit down and shut up!” Adrien roared.

And just like that, Plagg did. He dropped to the floor and sat back on his haunches and clamped his mouth shut, glaring up at Adrien.

The only noise in the room now was from the phone. There was clapping and cheering – Ladybug’s speech was evidently over. But Adrien had quite forgotten about the conference for the moment. He was distracted by Plagg’s immediate but resentful compliance.

An earlier memory floated up to his consciousness then, and Adrien stared at Plagg as comprehension dawned on him.

“Plagg, come here.” He made his command firm, but the anger in his tone had given way to surprise and wonder.

Plagg came up off the ground and approached Adrien until he was floating at Adrien’s eye level and half a meter away, staring Adrien right in the eye.

Without ever breaking eye contact, Adrien reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a wedge of cheese. “Hey Plagg, don’t eat this,” he said as he tossed the wedge toward him.

Plagg said nothing as the cheese fell to the ground. Instead, he stared back at Adrien, his eyes blazing with a fire that Adrien had never seen from his kwami before. “I don’t want it,” he said quietly, folding his arms.

“Pick up the cheese,” Adrien commanded, pointing toward the fallen wedge. “But don’t eat it.”

Plagg swooped down and picked up the cheese. He held it daintily, as though it offended him, his paws making as little contact with the wedge as possible. And the fire in his eyes had, if anything, intensified as he glared at Adrien.

“Plagg,” Adrien said slowly. “I can make you- You have to- to _obey_ me, don’t you?”

Plagg said nothing.

“Answer me,” Adrien said evenly.

“Yes,” Plagg spat. “It’s one of the more distasteful effects of the Miraculous.”

Adrien stared at the kwami. He had always assumed that the working relationship between himself and Plagg was based on mutual agreement, and beneath that, trust. Plagg loved to tease and irritate him, but he’d come to see that as Plagg’s personality and not a reflection on his feelings toward Adrien. And Plagg was lazy, frequently complaining about or trying to get out of the work involved in transforming, but Adrien had never once had the impression that Plagg actually _couldn’t_ refuse.

Plagg was staring at him with a hard expression on his face.

“I—I didn’t know,” was all Adrien could think to say.

“How did you think Hawk Moth controlled Nooroo?” Plagg asked hotly.

Adrien had not really considered this before. In the few times that Nooroo had been mentioned, either by Plagg or by Master Fu, words such as “enslaved” and “captive” had been used. Adrien had always imagined that somehow, the Butterfly Miraculous wielder had been able to contain Nooroo somehow, to find a way to threaten him into submission. Adrien had never imagined it could be so simple as merely _ordering_ Nooroo to comply.

A voice from his phone reached his ears. “ _I’m out of time for questions. Thank you for attending. Bug out._ ”

His eyes dropped to the phone as soon as he remembered whose voice it was, and his arm twitched to lift the phone up to see the video. But then he realized what he was doing, what it would look like _._ What he could _do_. His eyes darted back up to Plagg, who had clearly taken everything in.

“So,” Plagg said icily, leveling a glare at Adrien over the top of the cheese wedge he still held in his paws, “now what?”

Adrien’s mind was running wild. Ladybug. Nooroo. The book with all the various potential Ladybugs that he had made. Ladybug with Luka. Hawk Moth. He didn’t even realize he was backing away from Plagg until he felt his back hit the wall. When he did, he let out an involuntary hiss of shock.

Suddenly, he felt too ashamed to look Plagg in the eye. He dropped his head and squeezed his eyes shut, covering his face with his hands.

“Eat the cheese, Plagg,” he said quietly. Then he quickly added, “Or don’t. Do—just do whatever you want.”

“I get it. You don’t want me trying to tell you what to do about Ladybug any more than I want you telling _me_.” Adrien couldn’t tell whether Plagg’s tone was meant to be understanding or not, but he didn’t open his eyes to find out.

After a moment, there was a soft, slightly wet sound of the cheese wedge hitting the floor. Adrien kept his eyes closed for what felt like ages.

When he finally looked up again, the cheese was still on the floor, and Plagg was curled up on the arm of the chair, his eyes closed.

“I’m sorry,” Adrien called to him hoarsely. He was almost sure that he saw Plagg’s ear twitch, but otherwise, the kwami didn’t move again for the rest of the night.


End file.
